


Checkmate

by demonzander



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A Therapist Probably Wouldn't Hurt, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Black Eagles Students Like Everyone Is, Blood Kink, Bottom Claude von Riegan, Bottom Hubert von Vestra, But Dimitri Really Cares, Canon Divergence - Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Choking, Claude Doesn't, Claude Mentions Drinking, Claude and Dimitri Have Had Enough of Edelgard's Shit, Claude von Riegan is Called Khalid, Claude von Riegan is a Little Shit, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead Hilda Goneril, Derdriu Falls, Dirty Talk, Discrimination, Dry Sex, Edelgard Understands Feels Only Slightly Better Than Hubert, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Mostly Wins, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feelings Realization, Ferdinand Has A Crush, Ferdinand Is A Lush, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fondling, Frottage, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hubert Doesn't Understand Feels, Hubert Falls In Love, Hubert has nightmares, I lied no comfort, Implied Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril - Freeform, Injured Hubert von Vestra, Jealous Hubert von Vestra, Knifeplay, Lima Syndrome, Lorenz's Dad Is Kind of an Ass, Loss of Control, M/M, Manipulative Claude von Riegan, Marking, Maybe A Smidge of Stockholm Syndrome Maybe?, Mentioned Those Who Slither In The Dark (Fire Emblem), Mentions of Infanticide, Mentions of Mercy Killing, Mentions of Sororicide/Fratricide, Minor Linhardt von Hevring/Lysithea von Ordelia, Nader May or May Not Be Claude's Dad, Not Sure You Decide, One-Sided Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, One-Sided Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Only Hurt At First No Comfort, Oral Sex, Other, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Time Skip, Prisoner of War, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadist Hubert von Vestra, Self-Hatred, Top Claude von Riegan, Top Hubert von Vestra, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Why do these tags not auto sort, conflicted feelings, maybe comfort later, sex as a coping mechanism, sort of not really, this is war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonzander/pseuds/demonzander
Summary: Absolutely everything is a game right up until it isn't and, sometimes, the lines drawn in the sand are hard to see, especially when the wind blows.To the victor goes the spoils and everything in between.Please read chapter warnings.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic did not go in the direction that I wanted it to go at all. Instead, I give you a fic where:
> 
> -Claude is mortally wounded  
> -Hilda dies fighting for the Alliance  
> -Claude is captured  
> -Everyone in the game has sided with Edelgard except for Dedue, Dimitiri, Hilda, and Claude (really because I didn't want to murder any more students than I had to in my playthrough ;A; and then this fic popped up)  
> -Hubert is a cruel bastard  
> -Claude is a schemer  
> -There is non-con and each chapter will have warnings
> 
> Also, it may be mildly Claude/Hilda if you squint. I basically was not a fan of Claude in that play through because "LOL HILDA DIED FOR ME BUT LOL HEY TEACH HOW IS IT GOING I G2G I'M OUT BITCHES" and he never reappears or even really seems upset about it. SO.

Nader shot him a bitter look, hand firmly clasped over the wound on his side that was steadily leaking blood with each beat of his heart. “I’m sorry, kiddo. What do I tell your mother?”

An arrow whizzed out of Failnaught and a man fell off his Pegasus with a yell. It was amazing either of them could be heard over the din of war. “We always knew this was a possibility. You know the next steps.”

“Damn it, son.” The older man looked distinctly uncomfortable but his grip on the wyvern saddle was strong with his free hand. “Don’t you go dying for this blasted country, Khalid. I’m coming back for you.”

“Don’t you get killed either, old man, and don’t put the cart before the horse. Sit and wait for the messenger and all you have to do is follow it to the end.” Claude smiled and slapped the wyvern’s side in answer, watching it turn and call before taking flight. He’d seen Nader survive worse but the old man always had to go and make things sentimental to the last and part of him was touched by it.

He reared his wyvern back toward the fight.

***

The wounds were too great and left him dizzy in the saddle, leaning heavily toward the heat of the wyvern’s neck. He was grateful to have the beast with him as the flap of its wings lulled him gently. The fatigue was anguishing to fight but he had things that needed to be said.

“Wouldn’t it be better to let me go and have me in your debt?”

He had an elixir stashed between two rocks in the harbor for an emergency such as this. His wyvern knew the way, but opening the bottle may be a feat he couldn’t manage. It was a stupid oversight he wouldn’t repeat if he made it out of this alive and that was something he was becoming less sure of as time marched forward.

Edelgard stood red with blood and silk in the clothes of her Emperor status. The pale-haired leader tapped her axe on the ground, silencing all as it clacked against the stonework. “No. As long as you live, there will be those who wish to rise up against the Empire to fight in your name. As much as I loathe to admit, you are a capable and charismatic leader.” The axe gleamed in the light of the sun, metallic both with slick blood and its shearing edge as it was leveled toward him. “I cannot allow that insurrection after everything we’re fought for.”

Claude’s lungs seized and his body flashed cold before he lifted his head and laughed breathlessly, an edge of mania to it he couldn’t control. “I see. Right until the very end…I’ve read this whole thing…terribly wrong…all my hopes have fallen to ash. It’s all up to you now, Edelgard.” Numb lips were making it hard to continue speaking but he desperately needed to convey his last feelings. It was impossible to tell if Failnaught was burning in his fingers because of the warmth of his blood against the cooling digits or if his crest was desperately striving for survival as he bled from the axe wound in his shoulder. “I hope you really do—make the world--better.”

He steeled himself for the blow of the axe as the Emperor reared back but he wasn’t expecting the fist to his cheek, the flash of pale hair and red eyes and the burst of warmth from the fire spell.

The flagstone of the dock was cold and the roar of his wyvern vibrated deep in his chest and he knew distantly that shrill yelling would be the last thing he heard.

***

The velvet canopy of the bed was a deep purple and his eyes stung. Everything stung.

But he was warm.

“You’re awake."

It hurt to turn his head but he managed, the red dress swimming into focus, followed by the pale line of hair.

Edelgard sat with her legs crossed smartly, looking for the world as if they had not been in a battle…how long ago?

Her frown intensified when he remained silent. “I see. Did Lysithea really hit you that hard or are you playing mum?”

“…what?” The world spun and Claude slammed his eyes shut on the feeling. “Lysithea?”

“She’s fine,” Edelgard sighed, clothing wrinkling as she must have folded her arms or shifted in the plush chair that been pulled up beside the bed. “She’s been properly reprimanded. I don’t actually make a habit of executing people, you know.”

“Funny you felt the need to add that,” he croaked at length, frustrated his brain wasn’t working as he was used to.

“Lady Edelgard is a model leader. She need not dirty her hands with such things.”

“ _Hubert._ ”

The voice held enough edge to it to send Claude’s blood cold for a second. Humor automatically moved to surround him like armor. “That didn’t help, but sure.”

There was an exasperated sigh from his left. “I’m only present here at Lysithea’s request to assess your well-being. She’s convinced she somehow killed you when she used her warp spell to materialize above you in battle and knocked you from your wyvern. She’s been inconsolable.”

Claude had made it a habit to know everything he could about his classmates, including their strengths and weaknesses. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Lysithea had interfered in his death and he couldn’t summon surprise that Edelgard was more exasperated by it than anything. After all, Lysithea looked nothing like the other members of House Ordelia after a sudden and extended absence from her household. Likewise, Edelgard held a similar appearance with pale hair and red eyes and, for all of Fodlan’s diverse colorations, he had met no one with similar looks and certainly no one whose looks had changed so drastically as his Grandfather’s files would suggest.

Lysithea had always reminded him of a little sister. It seemed the same held true for Edelgard, which is why it hadn’t also surprised him when she had joined the Empire. Lysithea despised crests and the Fodlan class system, like so many others; he included himself among them.

That didn’t mean he agreed with Edelgard’s methods. She had a borderline “scorched land” mentality that seemed to cause more damage sometimes versus other methods that required more patience and finesse. Edelgard was charismatic but blunt to a fault and see seemed to be terrible at lying, at least to Claude. Maybe he was just inordinately good at seeing the signs from wearing them better. 

“Of course you are, milady. It surely must be that and not because you’re trying to size me up--she did try to incinerate you to save my skin, after all. You wouldn’t be jealous, would you?”

“I would hardly call it that,” the emperor snapped and Claude could picture her spine straightening through his closed eyes. He wasn’t sure which part of his remark had most offended her. “She merely wanted to get my attention and stop my attack.”

“Ah,” he hummed as a sadistic streak shot through him as he remembered Hilda fighting like a scorned Goddess to the last for him, beauty and grace and fury and blood. Edelgard was jealous then. He would certainly remember that. “If you say so, Your Highness.”

“Being spiteful doesn’t suit you, Claude. Hilda made a bold sacrifice for you. Her bravery will be honored by both sides. Believe me,” Edelgard whispered, nearly sadly, “I would give anything to be able to change time.”

Her face was gaunter than at the Academy, dark bags ringing the undersides of her startling lilac eyes. There were tiny pinpricks of burst capillaries interspersed, as if she had been crying and furiously rubbing her eyes to purge herself of the tears her body produced, destroying the weakness of the act.

“You never even did consider there were other paths,” he whispered, tongue suddenly feeling clumsy in his mouth due to the toxic combination of awe and complete, burning anger at her monoscopic world view. A sigh escaped him; as much as she looked like an adult, Edelgard often reminded him of a child. Worse still, she reminded him of himself as a child, what he may have grown into if he had never travelled to this Goddess forsaken country. “When is my execution scheduled for?”

The emperor waivered, rising from her chair in a smooth, practiced motion. She must have had hours of etiquette training drilled into her and spent countless more on her own study. “You are not. You are to be our guest until the end of this war. Lysithea and Hubert were correct: we could use a mind like yours to our advantage when we move on Faerghus.”

Claude smiled with that false bravado of his. So they had been discussing it? Interesting. “What makes you think I’ll help?”

“Honestly? We both know it’s the only way you can minimize losses on both sides. Don’t squander Hilda’s sacrifice for a better world she believed you able to mold.”

“Where is my wyvern?”

“Safe and unharmed,” Edelgard stated matter-of-factly. “It is resting with the other wyverns. It did give us extraordinary trouble trying to get to you, though. You’ve trained it well. Linhardt will be in shortly to check on you.”

With that she turned and left the room, Hubert snapping to her heels to follow before the door even clicked shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bishop approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a graphic description of abuse of a wound in the latter half. If that isn't your cup of tea then you can probably skip it and be okay.

“Whose bed am I in, anyway?”

“A guest room at Lorenz’s estate.”

“He must be having a fit,” Claude heard himself laugh. He wanted to feel a sharp pang of satisfaction that Lorenz was likely stewing on the fact that Claude, an outsider, his suspicious and hated once-leader, was in his bed, but he it wouldn’t come to him

“Actually, he was the one who suggested it,” Linhardt muttered as he pushed gingerly on the edges of the wound on his shoulder, checking for blanching of the skin around the sutures, “since Edelgard thought it was too risky that you be allowed to return to your own home with servants that are loyal to you and more likely to help you escape. Of course, you were rather too injured to travel far, so there was also that as a factor. All in all, the Gloucester territory was the most logical decision, so Lorenz offered the use of his family’s mansion. ”

Claude hid his instinct to do a double-take with jerk of his head and hoping it looked like the probing fingers had hit a tender patch. “You’re kidding me.”

The green-haired man just stared at him with his unblinking, sleepy eyes. “Why are you surprised by that?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we're not...friends.”

Linhardt made a non-commital noise and took some bandages out of his shoulder bag. “That’s not what I’ve observed.”

“Oh?” It came out much more curious than he would have liked. “Just what have you observed?”

“Lysithea was ready to dispatch your wyvern, but settled for distracting it while Lorenz snuck behind and dragged you out. Of course, the wyvern nearly accidently trampled you, but that’s hardly the beast’s fault, isn’t it? He also dragged you by your wounded arm—which I would have thought he had more forethought than that, honestly—but I suppose any port in a storm, hmm?” A thick salve came next and the other man was leaning close enough to his work that Claude could see where each green hair sprouted from the crown of his head. “Her Highness was furious, of course, at the display of opposition in front of the troops, but what was done was done by that point, I suppose. While it _was_ fascinating to observe the way your crest seemed to devour my healing spell and amplify it slightly, dispersing to damaged areas deeper than I had initially assessed—I’ll have to study it at some point in the future—you were very nearly dead. I’m surprised you were able to return from it.”

“What happened to them?”

Those eyes focused on him like he was an ant to a giant, watching him work his tiny machinations intensely and with a complete layer of apathy. “Lysithea is currently confined to her room until further notice and has been told any further actions along the lines of what she displayed and her parents will be exiled from their lands completely. Lorenz is just being avoidant at this point but his part was much smaller, so I suppose it makes sense, if we're going to judge solely by the weight of participation.”

“…I see.”

Part of him wanted to rage, to crush Edelgard and make her pay for the suffering of his people, Dimitri’s people, her own. If it had minimized bloodshed, he had been perfectly willing to step down, to take a knee and pass the power that Edelgard stampeded everyone and everything in her path to possess. He was patient and would bide his time but power begot power and Edelgard’s methods left a great many scrambling for it to stand up to her and end the bloodshed. They all agreed that Fodlan needed changes but Edelgard’s methods were only breeding hate from the commoners that were drafted to fight and sent them seeking shelter from the nobles with crests and money to protect them, perpetuating the cycle of power. 

The whole thing was a damned ouroboros of futility and he needed now more than ever to return to Almyra and put things to right.

Edelgard was right about one thing, however: he couldn’t squander the sacrifices of those who put their lives down to see the world become a better place.

“Lysithea thinks quite fiercely of the Golden Deer as her family, you know,” Linhardt drawled while he put the finishing touches on the bandages. “It makes things rather troublesome for me, though. Oh well.”

*** 

He got three days reprieve before he was visited in the room that he wasn’t allowed out of except when he had to use the bathroom.

Edelgard had been too much to hope for, evidently, too busy with settling in her to her new city to bother visiting. However, her lapdog arrived instead, standing by the door oddly for quite some time while Claude pretended to sleep until he got tired of their game of chicken and appeared by the bed silently.

His eyes were open in an instant when Hubert dug his thumb in beside the stitches and Claude watched his pupils dilate when he curled his lip at the pain. The dark bishop’s glove stole closer to the wound and Claude forced himself to look as if he was enjoying it. After all, Hubert expected pain, so the best way to twist this was to do the exact opposite: zig when he zagged, zag when he zigged.

This entire thing, his entire existence, was nothing but a game now and there were only three outcomes.

He wasn’t going to join Edelgard and he wasn’t going to die here. 

The man in front of him need not be aware of either.

“My, my, how curious,” came the harsh whisper in his ear, ice cold down his spine. “Shall we re-enact the battle of Derdriu, complete with the Alliance dog on its knees?”

Claude turned his head and bit the gloved thumb hard, hard enough to send the eyes in front of him burning and the nostrils to flaring. Hubert twitched his arm as if he were going to raise it to backhand him and Claude let his eyes slip half-closed, inwardly bracing for the slap. The mage seemed to reconsider and lowered his arm as an acidic smile smeared across his face, starting at the right side slowly and it made something inside his stomach clench.. “Perhaps you would enjoy that too much.”

Hilda’s words crashed over him suddenly and he recalled the way she had booped his nose one day in the greenhouse so long ago.

_“Remember, Claude, okay,” she gushed, watching two students stroll hand-in-hand through the rows of flowers, “always be the flower on the cliff.”_

_He’d looked up from his book and laughed. “What? That’s super deep and sagely, Hilda, but I’m going to need you to be a little clearer—“_

_"—oh, shut up!” She pouted, cute and sweet. “I’m just_ saying _that you don’t always have to make things easy for people. You do what’s best for everyone but_ sometimes _all people want is…like, the harder they had to work for it, the more beautiful it is, y’know? The flower on the cliff is same as the other flower right here but it’s waaaaay up there, so it_ must _be better, right?” Hilda waved her arm to demonstrate the metaphorical cliff. “Sometimes people need to feel like that. It’s stupid and it makes no sense but trust me.”_

_He had cradled his chin in his hand and laughed again. “So when you have all the guys do your work, you’re just being the flower on the cliff, huh?”_

_"Claude!” Hilda screeched and threw a book at him, cheeks puffed out in mock indignation. “See if I help you_ ever again _!”_

Hubert took his silence as assent and ran the thumb over his bottom lip daringly. “Why play at slumbering?”

“Do you watch everyone sleep,” Claude snapped, both figuratively and metaphorically, again biting for his hand, “or is it just Edelgard you creep on? You know, it doesn’t count if they don’t know any better, Vestra.”

The slap rang loud in his ears this time and Hubert was in his face, teeth bared. “You will watch your tongue.”

The finger dug into the wound this time and red seeped along the fabric of the glove, his teeth clenched against the burning and the cry that wanted to climb its way out of his throat. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction.

“That is _Lady_ Edelgard to you, you worthless mongrel,” and the words swirled against his consciousness like a smelling salt, “now _say it._ ”

“Sorry, didn’t—hear you,” he choked, trying to keep his voice even, “but you didn’t answer me. You _do_ creep on her, don’t you? That’s _so_ _weird_ —"

The wound was penetrated lower, more toward the sensitive underarm, and he seethed between clenched teeth.

He would not.

“ _Say it!_ ”

The entirety of the glove had been smeared bright red now like tissue paper dipped in paint. A few stitches popped and Linhardt was _not_ going to be pleased by this development but it wasn’t like he had done it to himself—

A cry finally wormed its way out and Hubert looked pleased, pulling another stitch out slowly. “Are you enjoying yourself now?”

“ _Lady_ ,” Claude rasped, unable to find any other words as the room spun and he broke out in a fine sweat and he was as surprised as Hubert to realize he had grabbed the man’s free hand, fingers trapped between his own as he clenched desperately. The man looked utterly disgusted and debauched and yanked his hand away, the snow-white clean glove left for Claude to clench.

“You are much more foolhardy than even you realize,” the man snarled pettily before he was gone as quickly as he came.

Claude managed to stuff the glove under the mattress before Linhardt arrived, shaking his head, and wobbled between detached concern that Claude had slipped and fallen and tired resignation as he began to once more knit the flesh together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust is given. It's a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have: 
> 
> -Discrimination  
> -Racist remarks  
> -Lorenz's dad is a dick

Claude smiled and sat on the settee. It was obvious this room was an over plush prison cell.

The fabric was tear proof. The mattress was attached to the bed frame, which was attached to the floor and wall. The settee, bedside table, and desk and chair were likewise secured. The windows were shatterproof, did not open, and the door hinges were all reinforced. The door opened inward and was locked from the outside; negating any leverage he could build in trying to force it open.

He’d even managed to straighten his earring out and had given prying the floorboards up a go.

Climbing the bed posts to punch the ceiling had been a failure.

This place may be even _more_ secure than any of the prison cells he’d seen on diplomatic rounds to acquaint himself with people with…useful repertoires who found themselves in unfortunate situations.

He sighed and flopped backward onto the velour arm, letting his legs dangle off the other end.

“Brooding again?”

The snort was out before he could stop it. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Lorenz had the fortitude to look neutral at the comment and set the tray down on the bedside table stiffly. “I wish you would reconsider joining us but I understand your reluctance.”

“You always did want to be in the history books. You must love this,” he laughed, gesturing to the space between them, “whatever this is. Having me under your thumb? No, that’s not quite it…”

“I do not claim to hate you, Claude. I’m as distraught as you are that things have turned out the way they have.”

“Oh, you don’t have to claim it,” Claude replied as he folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling, “but we all knew how you felt in the Academy anyway, Lorenz.”

“I hate to think your mind actually managed to come up short, then,” Lorenz shot back, sinking into the opposite settee as if they were merely having afternoon tea and neither was bolted to the floor to prevent escape of its occupants.

The former duke internally bristled at the display of what could be camaraderie at any other time. “Who makes a prison cell look this nice? Why bother? Seems like a waste of money to me.”

The look he got through the lowered lilac lashes made his heart skip a beat. Lorenz looked guilty, flayed open and raw for a split second before composing himself. “My family is in a rather…unique position. My father, as count, often was charged by your grandfather with politely hosting those who had tried to assassinate him until your grandfather came to a decision on what to do with them. It was utmost importance that they not be allowed to interact with…others during their incarceration as my father had a perchance for being the one to have hired them. So, this room came into being as a holding cell of sorts and…many met their end by either their own hand or his. It simply worked better if it seemed like any other room. I cannot say for sure, but I’m rather certain that is the basis for your uncle’s accident and…Raphael’s parents.”

“Makes sense. Anyway, nothing can come of it at this point. I assume that’s why you’re telling me now?”

“What—of course not—I just—you had asked and I wished to be truthful.”

“Well, your father many have gotten away with treason, but my grandfather allowed it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“My grandfather wasn’t a stupid man, Lorenz, and neither is your father. My grandfather figured as long as he held power, any attempt on him would be only on him, so he allowed it and made a deliberate target of himself. After all, if he hadn’t and had called your father out, what would have happened? War, that’s what. He knew what your father was doing. He paid the ones he could double whatever your father paid them and the ones he wouldn’t take the money were captured and delivered back to their employer, who he knew would secure an end that resulted in their silence. That went out the window with my uncle, though, I honestly really should be thanking your father.”

Lorenz looked horrified. “Why?”

“He’s the reason I’m here,” Claude said with a shrug, “after all. See, my mother didn’t leave the family because she wanted to. She left after my grandfather saw your father becoming more desperate and he made her leave, paying for her to be smuggled to an old political friend’s of his in Almyra. It’s there she met my father and, well, here I am.”

“You’re half Almyran?”

Claude graced him with a withering look. “You honest to Goddess _cannot_ be surprised by that. Cyril and I look like brothers.”

“I…” The purple-haired man floundered for the words while Claude folded his arms over his chest, a sliver of bicep from the informal shirt sleeves making his heart speed and his stomach roil. “I honestly had not considered that but…that explains much. I don’t claim to know much about Almyra, but your father must own land, correct? He is the one who supplied you with reinforcements in Derdriu, was he not?”

“Something like that,” Claude replied as he pulled a hand down his face, scratching the short beard that had grown in the last week. It had been a consensus that he could not yet be trusted with a razor. Lorenz would like to say the sight was unbecoming, the stubble beginning to crawl down his jaw and upper neck, filling in where the small line had been before, but it would certainly be a lie.

“I will see about possibly allowing you to get some fresh air on the grounds, with a guard of course,” the purple-hair man interjected and it seemed to Claude he could see the gears in his mind working, trying to determine from that answer whether he was a fellow noble and should be extended the honor system or if Lorenz saw him as lowly and in need of assistance. Either way, it was working in his favor.

He craned his head and flashed his best smile, watching the flush start on the pale cheeks and my, my, that was undoubtedly new. “Thanks, Lorenz. I’d really like a bath, though, gotta be honest. The sponge baths are getting _pretty_ old.”

“Oh, yes, quite so. I will have the servants prepare it within the hour.”

***

The bath had no such machinations about the windows and Claude picked up one of the soaps provided for him.

“Hmm, modestly expensive, why, Lorenz,” he chortled to himself, “didn’t daddy teach you never to leave the good soap out for guests?”

The clothes he had were modest but still proper with pockets and everything.

So he loaded them and swung out the window, careful not to lose his bounty. It would fetch a good price in the streets at least.

Claude was surprised there was so little security watching him, disappointed almost. Lorenz of all people should have known better, he thought as he slotted his bare feet into whatever holds he could find between the stone of the building façade. Surprise that Count Gloucester was not more forthright in his need to fortify his estate also nagged at him like a burn on his fingertip and the stitches groaned. Surely if he could climb from down from the third story, a determined enough cat burglar (it need not even be an assassin for this easy of a climb) could surely make their way up?

No matter, he mused, dropping beside one of the many rose bushes planted around the estate. The kitchen was bustling not ten feet away and he could think of no other way to cover up the heavy smell of the soap.

The lawn was open, vast, and well-manicured. He would never make it if he ran.

Walking was another matter.

A staunch believer that faking it until you make it can get you anywhere in life, Claude strode into the kitchen and began by snatching a vest hanging up on the wall, followed by an apron. The vest was tight but the apron drew attention away from his full pockets and bare feet, seemingly an anomaly in the damn house. If he could make his way to the servants quarters than he could surely fix that problem as well.

Finally he was able to complete the outfit with a pair of brown buckle shoes he snatched off a shoe-shine stand in one of the servant’s rooms, along with their woolen newsboy hat. The shoes were a tad too big but they were better than nothing and he just needed to cover his hair. He felt conspicuous but he knew he was slightly less noticeable without his earring in.

The guards at the gate intercepted him, of course, demanding to see his papers denoting his errands in town.

“He don’t have his papers, Elfric,” the taller one said with a shrug. “What do we do?”

“Hell if I know,” Elfric snapped, clearly in a bad mood. “What are you going to town for? Where’s your pass?”

Claude tilted his head as if he didn’t understand, speaking rapid-fire Almyran. That threw the man off and he seemed panicked.

“Goddess damn it, just let the damn dirty Almyran through. I don’t want to deal with this again!”

Elfric yanked the gate open and gestured for him to pass through quickly, which he did while cursing them with a smile and bows of gratitude.

He had been walking for about an hour, judging by the position on the sun, when he heard a commotion on the road up ahead and dove behind a tree.

“You will all pay for this with your very lives. Do you have any idea what you _incompetent_ fools have interrupted? _Do you_?!”  
  
Count Gloucester had returned, horse shining with sweat and his face red enough to pop.

“You have interrupted the very Emperor! _I will present her with your heads!_ ”

“Master—“

“FIND HIM IN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES OR I WILL HANG YOU FROM THIS VERY TREE!”

“Father, please—“

A loud and armored slap echoed and Claude felt pure rage well up inside, nails digging painfully into the bark of the tree as he tried to control it.

“ _You._ _You_ are the luckiest of them all, Lorenz. If you did not bear a crest—let that be your lifeline. Without it and I would see you executed as well.”

“Father, please, I beg of you to listen—Claude is not—he is my friend—"

“SILENCE!” A dull resounding ‘thock’ and the squeal of armor and Claude knew without seeing the Lorenz had been struck by the dull end of his father’s lance hard enough to dent the layer of metal that protected him. “YOU HAVE DONE ENOUGH DAMAGE TO THIS FAMILY! What are you all looking at? _Find him!_ ”

“That is _enough_!”

Teach’s voice rang out loudly, determined, angry. Claude dared to peek around the tree, unable to resist a look at the person who had always had his attention, a gut instinct that he needed them and maybe had even been accepted into their circle in another life, another time. Strong fingers helped Lorenz back to his feet, the dent over his abdomen large and deeper than Claude would have liked to have seen.

“The Professor is telling them that no one is to be doing the killing today.”

Claude jumped and his heart began to beat like a jackrabbit in his chest, Petra peering at him with her large eyes in confusion. “Petra! Fuck!”

He slammed a hand over his mouth and she tilted her head, whispering, “What is fuck? I have not been hearing the word before.”

“Shh!"

“Why did you run away, Claude? Are you not feeling happy with your room?”

“Petra, please,” he begged, banging his back against the tree. It was unlikely they were to hear him, absorbed in their discussion, but he didn’t want to take any chances if he could avoid them. “I need to go home.”

“Claude, you are scrambled. Is Fodlan not your home?”

He caught her eyes, purple and earnest, and he knew that he could trust her. “I need to go home to Almyra, Petra. I’m the prince.”

Petra dropped her mouth in understanding before she looked off to the side and frowned. “Claude, what you are talking…I do not think that is a thing that is possible. I am to be being queen of Brigid but I have been being here for seven years now. I am not being allowed to return until after the war. Edelgard says the same for you.”

The news floored him like getting hit with a meteor spell from across the battlefield. “Seven— _years?_ You didn’t decide to come to the Academy on your own, did you? You didn’t get a choice at all.”

“You need to be keeping your friends close and your enemies very close. Edelgard believes this.”

Claude looked at her and his heart sank. “Come with me. I can get you _home_.”

“Claude—“ Petra looked at him and her face contracted into something unreadable “—that is not a path for me. I am still needing more strength before then. You can still be running, though. I will not be saying anything.”

“How very troublesome indeed,” Claude heard before Petra gasped and a sickening crack smashed into his temple. He went stumbling forward, falling to his hands and knees from the way the world swayed. The lance blade was at his throat. “Why should I not kill you?”

Claude laughed, feeling his crest flare to life and the pain faded before he grabbed the lance and rolled, yanking the count off his feet and propelling him in an animalistic display of raw power. The sharpened silver of the lance kissed the graying lilac hairs of the Count’s neck when Claude flipped it around in deft hands, voice trembling in anger. “I could ask you the same and you had better made it good, you old bastard.”

“Claude.”

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake.

Lorenz looked stricken as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. He was whiter than he even normally was and looked on the verge of vomiting or crying and Claude threw the spear so hard it buried itself halfway in the ground and the top third snapped clean off from the wobbling. “Thank your son, Count. _You_ are the luckiest of them all.”

“Yeah,” Petra piped up, “you do not be hitting Lorenz again while we are to be watching!”

Teach smiled and held out their hand and Claude reached for it, mind suddenly blank with why he should turn and run the other way. The embrace was warm and felt like home.

No wonder Edelgard was obsessed.

He was so tired.

He had no desire to see what new restrictions were in store for him.

***

Edelgard rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I would love to say this was completely unexpected but…you cannot be trusted to bathe. So it’s back to the chamber pots and sponge baths until you have proven otherwise. What _can_ you be trusted with, Claude?”

“I would like a book.”

Hubert snorted from by the door and Edelgard shot him a murderous look. “What kind of book?”

“Lady Edelgard, you cannot seriously—“

“—question me again, Hubert, and see what happens,” the Emperor snapped, finally sighing again. “Fine. You can visit the estate’s library. With guards from my personal selection so do not think to try anything remotely like before or else you will find yourself in _very_ different circumstances and much less comfortable ones at that. My patience is running thin, Claude.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, I’m glad we could come to such a pleasing end of this accord.”

Edelgard stopped dead in her tracks and sighed.

Deeply.

Hubert bowed her out and the door slammed a tad harder than normal behind her.

Claude crossed his feet at the ankles and knew the Professor had something to do with this. After all, a distracted Claude was a quiet Claude...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bishop advances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have: 
> 
> -Sadistic Hubert  
> -Choking  
> -Marking  
> -Pining Hubert  
> -Maybe Edelgard/Byleth  
> -Non-con Claude/Hubert

“You’ll be moving to Enbarr. It’s been deemed necessary to keep a… _closer_ …eye on you. Know that you have disappointed Her Majesty greatly.”

He was able to leave the room now, accompanied by the Empires hand-picked guards who neither spoke nor gave an inch. They were much too afraid of Hubert to dare.

“For someone on such _friendly terms_ , you’ve also given the Gloucester boy quite a bit of trouble. I can’t fathom which is more dangerous: having you as an _enemy_ or having you as a _friend_.” The dark mage folded his arms across his chest. “Have you suddenly gone deaf?”

“Moving to Enbarr,” Claude parroted, flipping through his book. He had no idea what it was about but he had managed to tear off some of the margins and tuck them into his sash when the guards had been momentarily distracted by Dorothea walking by. It was a common theme and he found it easiest to just remain in her proximity as often as possible without arising suspicion. “Sounds great. How’s the weather this time of year? And you know there's a thing called frenemies, right? That is literally the thing you are describing right now.”

“It will hardly matter what the weather is as you are not to be permitted to go outside.” Hubert said it in the same tone he would speak to a child covered in filth that he desperately required something of.

“Great,” he continued as if Hubert hadn’t spoken, “can we bring these two? I’m making up imaginary families for them and their wives will be super upset if I have to start over with someone else.”

Hubert closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath through his nose and Claude applauded himself for being so very good at needling the man. “…It will be _considered_.”

“Fantastic! Hear that, Richard? Tabethia will be so happy—“

“Please do cease your inane chatter. It is most grating on the mind.”

“Oh?” His voice piqued with an intense need to hear more and it grated on Hubert’s very last nerve. “I hadn’t heard that before—“

“Leave us,” the mage growled to the guards and, once their backs were turned, he reached down and muckled hold of the endlessly flapping jaw. “I must admit that it had not occurred to me that you would have such a very wide…streak…for masochism on my behalf.”

“Whoot con I seyf?” Hubert sighed and let the foolish face in front of him go. The energy to continue to further interpret the squashed words was quickly fleeting because, try as he might, von Riegan never shut up. “Your murdering aura truly doesn’t do justice to how pretty you flirt _._ ”

The darkness in the eyes in front of him belied the friendly grin like a slash to the throat and Hubert found his guard raised to the max, unsure of exactly why. “I do not currently know what game you claim to be playing at but you can rest assured that I _will_ find out, von Riegan, and when I do…”

“Ooooh, scary,” Claude sing-songed slightly, “but what are you going to do?” He leaned forward, boots dragging off the table with a loud clunk as they settled on the floor and he lowered his voice as if they were lovers, quiet and affectionate, elbows resting loosely on his knees as he canted his upper body forward. “Kill me, Hubert? Edelgard won’t like that, I bet, so what next? _Maim_ me? _Posion_ me? _Torture_ me? _Humiliate me_?” The voice that Hubert longed to rip from his throat lowered further to a purr and the former duke tilted his head back, deliberately exposing his throat. “Don’t tease me with a good time, Vestra, unless you plan to follow through.”

His hand was on the throat before he could help it, tracing the delicate larynx he longed to crush between his fingers. “Do not for one second believe that I will not dispose of you once your usefulness has been outlived. I will find out what you are hiding and I will raze it to the ground.”

“You really know how to lay it on thick.” That damned tongue came out to wet those damned lips. “Maybe I’m not hiding anything,” the duke leaned forward, putting the slightest pressure against his windpipe, eyes wide and unblinking on Hubert’s face in open scrutiny that stripped him to the bone, “did that ever occur to that brilliant brain of yours?”

Hubert squeezed harder, watching the involuntary narrowing of those green pools when the flush began to spread from the lack of air. Killing had become so routine that he rarely took any sort of feeling in it anymore at all; it was an impulse and then it was over. This was something to be savored like a beautiful Dagdan coffee at its most bitter on a freezing morning, tendrils of frost snaking over the glass of the window in fractals, a world beyond he need not confront until he was ready.

“Hubie? Am I interrupting something?”

The white of the glove dropped from against the caramel skin and it was instant regret, rage rising sharply like bile against his sternum.

To Dorothea’s credit, she neither recoiled nor pulled herself to her full height when he turned his vicious glare onto her, wanting to tear her to shreds for most certainly interrupting…something. The feeling was buried and slammed away. They were allies. It was untoward to act as such to someone his liege found useful.

“Of course not,” he scoffed darkly, Claude trying to even out his breathing and the tears in the corners of his eyes-- _beautiful_. It was a small voice that hissed like a snake, dripping poison and ill-intentions. He wanted to fume, burn that part of him until it repented and was once more worthy of his Lady, to her cause alone, no room in his heart for anything or anyone else and certainly, _certainly_ not in his mind or body.

However, it itched.

“Edie was looking for you,” Dorothea continued, hands folded in front of her in her trademark stance that she wasn’t going to press but would neither give an inch if someone was looking for a quarrel. She was frowning between Claude and the hand that had been around his throat.

It wasn’t a statement that required feeling or follow-up. He simply abandoned the room, gesturing for the guards to take their places once more.

His nails dug into his palm when Dorothea went to Claude’s side and turned his head to inspect the hand mark. Likely using her magic to undo the mark on that deserving skin.

Meddling wench.

The man’s laugh lilted down the hallway and Hubert wished he had someone he could kill.

***

“I hear you have not been completely _hospitable_.”

The word was nearly spat, Edelgard’s beautiful back to him, allowing him a chance to inspect the white wisps of hair that had been allowed to cascade down her back.

“My Lady—“

“Save it, Hubert,” she snapped, lifting her hairbrush to begin her nightly routine of meticulously combing the long locks. “I believe I told you that Claude was to be our guest. I will not have your actions reflect badly upon the Empire. Either he will agree to help us, or he will not; either way, you are not to mistreat him. Do not let me hear of this again.”

Hubert took a knee before the Emperor—she had always insisted he call her El in closed quarters but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it—and placed his hand over his heart in the Fodlan bow. “Your will be done, My Liege.”

She ignored him as he disappeared out the door silently with the picture of her in her flowing nightgown burned into his mind.

 _Don’t let me_ hear _of this again._

He would certainly be more discreet in the future.

He ignored the stabbing chest pain when he sunk into the shadows to watch as Byleth knocked on the door with a tray of tea and biscuits and Edelgard answered with a blinding smile.

_Not as blinding as Claude’s._

Teleporting suddenly, he yelled into the darkness until his throat bled and was raw as pitfalls.

The bands restricting his breathing when he thought about the way those pale fingers twined with the ex-mercenary’s sometimes when they thought no one was looking, the pinkies kissing, gave him no quarter that night.

***

It’s the first time he advanced on Claude from the darkness, the man not play-sleeping this time, thrashing suddenly as his shoulders are shoved and he was heaved onto his back on the bed.

Hubert pinned his wrists above his head and sat himself on strong upper thighs (most likely from needing the hold fast to that damn air dragon). He said nothing and Claude struggled before stilling.

“Vestra?” He got no answer and Claude looked a little more alarmed from what Hubert can see in the dark. “Hubert? I know you’re some kind of vampire, but I’m trying to sleep, so if you could kindly get out and we can play your games in the morning—“

Hubert cut him off with a brutal kiss, devouring, holding his face still with one hand to control the kiss as he pleased, moving Claude’s head in whatever way worked best for him.

“Shut the fuck up, Claude,” he hissed in the dark, voice raw and bloody.

He doesn’t know which part it is that startled the man more, his altered voice, or the fact that he actually called him by name but it sent a thrill down his spine when Claude started to pant and break out in a cold sweat.

The dark bishop can neither distinguish when Claude started feeling comfortable enough in the room to begin sleeping shirtless and he can’t say he honestly cares. The only repeating mantra in his mind is that the skin, smelling of sandalwood and musk, need not be so incredibly smooth.

It has scars, of course, but Claude has been remarkably lucky between his crest and healers.

So he sank his teeth into it, the man’s muscled bicep, beside the wound, the side of his neck. It looked good with his impressions worn in it and he ground against the man, not caring that there was no matching arousal to be found.

The first sound he got was a shaky grunt when he closed his teeth around the tip of a finger and the man remained stiff as a board under him, not pulling away, but not helping either. He’s just existing, waiting to see if Hubert will become bored and leave him alone or not, unable to extrapolate which with no previous data points.

Frozen by inaction for fear of making the wrong choice.

It’s a feeling they share and Hubert ripped it out of his mind by the roots, forcing him onto his stomach by his shoulders and grinding against the cleft of his clothed ass.

“Hubert,” he heard as a whisper from the dark, somehow impossibly loud despite the rustling of clothing, “don’t.”

“Quiet, knave,” he snarled back, hand pressing hard against the head beneath him, making Claude squirm and gasp as he tried to find an angle that didn’t break his nose by pressing it into the mattress. He pulled the lithe hips back against him, fingers sliding in the sensitive crease making the former duke arc his back and huff an odd little breath before Hubert realized it was off-beat due to him holding his breath. Those hips were yanked with enough force that anyone would be able to see his finger marks tomorrow if the man’s shirt rode up in the least. “You are pathetic. _Weak_. _Unfit._ There is nothing about you that is— _special_ —“

He reached under the sagging hips and fumbled before finally grasping the half-hardness there and Claude shoved a fist in his mouth to keep quiet and stifle any sounds.

Hubert yanked his hand away and yanked the man’s pants down, working a gloved finger in as he continued to rut against him, release overcoming him at the look of discomfort on the other man’s face.

Suddenly disgusted, he shoved off the bed and ripped off his gloves to throw in the trash at the first available moment.

“Well. That was a blast,” Claude hissed as he rearranged himself with a groan, “so glad you could come. Maybe invite me next time.”

A flush suddenly tore up his face faster than if he had gone up in flames and he was thankful for the darkness. A tent was visible in the shadows around Claude’s lap but he made no move to do anything about it.

“I’m tired, Hubert, and I’m not entirely sure why you woke me up for that. I didn’t seem to need to be present.” Claude levered himself up on his elbow and Hubert got a glimpse of the Duke of the Leicester Alliance in all his glory, tone demanding action in a way that was unthinkable to disobey. “Answer me.”

Hubert calmly strode over to the bed and bent his knee upon the injured shoulder, causing Claude to squirm and try to push him off. He merely leaned farther forward. “You do not have the authority to order me.”

Reaching, he once more took the hardness between his fingers and Claude grunted, trying to writhe away from all points of contact. His voice dripped acid. “Besides—“ he leaned down and licked the man’s opposite ear, squeezing about where the head of his hardness would be “—what is this? It would seem as if you enjoyed it.”

Claude turned his head to the side and his hips stuttered. “Damn you.”

Slowly, much too slowly for anything to happen but tease, Hubert caressed his cheek in a parody of caring at the same time he began to move his hand.

A moan fell from between Claude’s lips and he just as quickly swallowed it somewhat unsuccessfully.

Small tinders were catching fire low in his stomach and he let all contact go, leaving Claude gasping in either pain or despair, he wasn’t sure. Either way it was delicious and he opened the door, a sliver of light sneaking through the crack to expose the man on the bed.

His hair was mussed, pants low on his hips, bite marks visible over his torso and the icing on the cake was the clearly visible erection and his heat kissed cheeks smattered with the finger shapes peeking over the waistband of his pants.

But, moreover, it was the pain and fear and betrayal on that enchanting face. 

If von Riegan had assumed they had been working under a distinct rule of engagement, he now knew he was so very, very wrong.

“Do not forget that this place holds no protections for you. Well, either way, I will be rid of you soon enough."

He slammed the door and locked it but he couldn't tell if it was to keep the mange-ridden fox in or a flimsy attempt to keep himself out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bishop makes a bold move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> There is actual non-con in this chapter and the entire chapter can be skipped if needed.
> 
> There is a dark chapter that includes knife play, threats, and blood.

The next night was no better as Hubert stole into the room like a phantom, straddling his thighs again and Claude groaned loudly both at the implication this was happening again and because he was _tired._

Hubert edged the knife from his throat down his torso before he dug the edge into the short hairs under Claude's belly button and slid it carefully down to press just at the base of the flaccid prick.

"What would you do if this knife were to slip?" His voice was stone and intrigued.

Claude swallowed reflexively and turned his head to the side, the noise of the gulp audible. Hubert could see his eyes were wide but not overtly terrified, more...numb. Exhausted. His heart rate, on the other hand, was galloping and his breath was coming shallow as he realized the full weight of the situation. "I...can't really say I've ever had to consider it. Bleed, most likely. Mourn? Not sure what you're looking for, von Vestra."

Hubert pressed harder, intent evident on his face and Claude’s hands came up to grip his shoulders hard, eyes wide and alarmed now. "Hubert, don't, _please_ \--"

His stomach did flips and an odd calm came over him. "Are you begging me?"

"If that's what you need," Claude replied in the same way he would offer a stranger who was breaking down a shoulder to cry on. Detached and puzzled but complicit and waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Please, Hubert. I'm asking you. Not as Duke Riegan, not as an enemy, just as Claude. _Please_. Cut me anywhere else, fuck me dry, do whatever you want, kill me even, just not that."

Negotiating. He really was afraid and the thought made him dizzy, hard, wanting. "I will have you."

Claude smiled wobbly and spread his arms out. "I'm yours."

Hubert flipped the man over in a parody of the first time, digging the edge of the dagger in just enough to cause a small, triangular divot of blood over the smaller man's shoulder blade. It welled into a fat drop before snaking its way down and dropping onto the sheets, bright red and taunting to him. 

He smeared the blood around the fabric and watched the way it absorbed. Apprehension poured off the man under him and he was holding perfectly still as if by that he would sink through the mattress. His face was screwed up and the freezing up was both irritating and pleasing to Hubert. Irritating because it wasn't the fight he wanted, pleasing because it meant Claude had resigned himself; the handoff of power was almost more than he could take.

The broad back before him had broken out in a cold sweat again and he watched as his hand dug in beside the small cut, blood mixing with sweat, and Hubert brought it to his lips.

It was salty and musky and something just unique to the man in front of him. It almost sparked on his tongue and he leaned forward to get more of it, dragging the beads away from that dark skin. The flesh beneath him started to quiver but it was unclear at best if it was because it was spit-slick and cooling or if it was from the effort of not responding.

The fabric of those flimsy pants was shoved away and Hubert forced just the tip of a sweat slippery finger inside the tight ring of muscle, feeling it give slowly to a world of warmth and tightness. His swollen prick throbbed in his pants and he forced the finger deeper, probing just to feel, curious.

The taut body beneath him jumped and Claude’s eyebrows pulled together with a frown, lips mimicking the unpleasantness. The quaking began in earnest now, giving way to twitching, and Hubert ran his finger over the spongy tissue again.

“ _Fuck_!” Claude snarled and hid his face in the pillow, next words muffled. “Stop, just stop—“

“I find it hard to believe that you truly wish for that.” Hubert chuffed triumphantly; pressing again and again, two fingers sliding harshly in and he heard a rough growl at the treatment. It went ignored as he focused on the fluttering around his fingers.

“You have no idea what I wish for,” he threatened darkly, turning his head to glower but it was slightly undermined by the hot-red blush on his face.

“Well,” Hubert clucked cheerfully, “it matters not. You are mine now, after all.”

He pushed in and it was difficult to slide past the tight ring of muscle, every muscle in Claude’s body taut and shaking with the need to hold back and not move, not shove the man on top of him away, not hit and kick and spit like a cornered animal. After all, the dark bishop still had a dagger in one hand and as much pain as this was, Claude doubted getting stabbed in the kidney would hurt any less. It was best to endure it.

Hubert started to thrust and he was sure that getting stabbed in the kidney had to actually be less painful. It hurt, a burning, searing pain unlike any he had ever felt before and it took his breath away. The pain would lessen if he was able to unclench, to relax a little, but it was overwhelming and sent spasms through his body, which judging from the puffs of air on the back of his neck, Hubert seemed to enjoy.

Determined not to give Hubert the satisfaction, he sunk his teeth deep into his forearm to distract himself from the pain and muffle any cries. The metal of the blood flowed into this mouth, surely staining his teeth red and he hoped it was a horrifying sight, until the fizzle of his crest began, knitting the flesh back together slowly. The pain in his backside faded and that was worse than if it hadn’t at all: the blood had begun to provide slickness, letting Hubert’s dragging thrusts in and out take on another aspect altogether.

He was just getting past half-hardness when either Hubert reached his limits or the spark of his crest became too much for the man and he pulsed inside him with a satisfied sigh, buried deep enough that Claude bit his tongue hard on a whimper and he gasped when the taller man pulled out, whole once again as the crest peaked and faded.

Limping, he threw the bloody pants into the fire and sagged against the wall. His body may have no physical signs but fighting the pain had left him exhausted. Still, there were things to be done first. “You owe me a pair of pants and I want a bath. I want this room cleaned up by the time I get back. Then I want you to leave me alone for twenty-four hours.”

Hubert straightened his cuffs out, smoothed his shirts, placed the dagger back into the holster around his thigh and plastered the cruelest, coldest smile Claude had ever seen on his face. “Just what is in it for me?”

Two could play this game. “How angry do you think Edelgard will be? Like exile you angry or execute you angry?”

The pale face in front of him fell and the single green eye he could see narrowed to a slit. “I will stand by while you bathe in case you get any… _ideas._ ”

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

He bathed and returned to the room under watchful eyes, silently relieved to see the bed had been finely made and all trace of blood gone. The fire was a moderate size and he fell onto the bed face-first, asleep before the lock had snicked back into place on the door.

***

“Are you ill?”

Lady Edelgard always knew how to cut to the heart of the matter with him and he shook his head, grasping for excuses. “Not at all, My Lady, merely considering. Would the infantry not be better served at this junction, beneath the high ground with the archers?”

“Astute, as always,” she commended, sending his heart thundering, “however, I can’t help but feel as if there is something which you wish to address.”

“Nothing that I would possibly consider upon your level, Lady Edelgard.”

“Hubert—“ her lips turned downward into a pout and he could nearly hear the words before they formed “—do you not find me trustworthy?”

“Not at all, My Liege—“

“I cannot stand to see you burdened when I can possibly help. I won’t force you to disclose to me what bothers you but if it becomes a problem, I will not hesitate to do so.”

"Your heart is my heart, Your Highness,” he replied with a bravado he didn’t necessarily feel. _Is it truly?_ They seemed to be drifting minutely apart and he was sure it had nothing and everything to do with Byleth Eisner and pulled some part deep inside of him taut to breaking. “And your heart is the Empire. You need have no worries that all else will lay itself out as inconsequential.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules are established.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings:
> 
> -Hate sex  
> -Choking  
> -Racist name-calling

Edelgard stared hard at the bite mark barely peeking just above his collar. He had hoped if he ignored it, she would as well.

Instead, she leaned forward and topped off his cup of tea.

“Claude.”

“Hmm?” His tone was light and conversational. He zigged when everyone else zagged.

“If you are not pleased with your current… _accommodations,_ ” she continued, the word forced off her tongue by an inability to find another, “please, tell me. If you have any problems, I beg that you speak them plainly.”

This was a game; sometimes he found the need to remind himself, and one he would win.

He smiled and lifted his tea to blow on it gently. “Very kind of you, Your Highness. I have no problems at present but if any do present themselves, I will notify you immediately.”

Hubert caught his eyes as Edelgard bowed her head and slid the plate of delicate cakes closer. “Feel free to have as many as you like. You are our _guest_ , after all.”

“Many thanks,” he replied cheerfully, holding the eye contact even as a cookie snapped between his teeth.

There was a small twitch beneath the green eye not obscured by dark hair and the pupil dilated, a greedy look taking seed and Claude watched it happen as he would something grotesque: entranced and wishing to be able to look away, to not see the slight flush begin on those high cheeks and spread to the tips of those ears that could hear a pin drop in another room. The biceps he knew the exact shape of beneath that gloomy and form-fitting uniform when Hubert moved to cross his arms. The fingers twitching in those pristine white gloves.

Claude smiled wider.

***

Hubert kissed along his throat, fingers tracing the healing wound.

Claude hated those fingers and longed for them to be cleaved from the man’s body just as much as he found himself drowning in the touches.

The walls had ears and the paintings eyes in this estate; he had hoped to use that to his advantage when he told Lorenz he was half-Almyran. Hubert was an elitist through and through, a thoroughbred like no other, and he had played the cards he thought were most likely to make the man desert him faster than a hot coal being dropped from a sensitive hand.

Hot lips crashed on his, edged with teeth, and when he bit back a strong hand was on his jaw, holding his mouth still and open for the taking. He was pleased to see his beard had grated on the pale face and left angry red lines in the candlelight.

The dark bishop turned his head and whispered the candles to darkness, flames oddly overcome by the surrounding shadows even as the smoke was left to trail toward the ceiling untouched. It was always unnerving the way the flames were snuffed out as if they had been consumed and it sent the hairs on Claude’s neck prickling.

Hubert was well aware, of course.

He was also well aware of how Claude would hide the limp tomorrow after he fucked him hard and sometimes painfully, leaving bite marks and welts, a show of bravado that always amused him to no end and, at times, when he went particularly overboard, Hubert felt the burn and sting of crest magic activating.

Claude knew what he was in store for, of course. He knew he could also count on decreased supervision from the guards, as well as a bath, and sometimes a stack of books that would appear mysteriously on the bed.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement even when Hubert was angry enough to flay him alive and Claude wished for nothing more than to sink a dagger into the man’s throat.

When he was buried sufficiently inside the body, he yanked the brunette’s head back harshly enough for his neck to crack. “I hate you, Claude von Riegan.”

“Good,” the man panted into the pillow, laughing when teeth bruised the skin around the top of his shoulders like a macabre cape, “I’d hate for the feeling to be unrequited.”

“I have to say,” he continued, a particular thrust causing Claude to squirm away as the spit wore thin, “that it’s a shame I had never considered this before.”

“Fu—fucking your prisoners? Come on, Hubert,” and the breathless way those lips said his name had him close to the edge, much closer than he would ever admit, “you can do—b—etter than _that_.”

Hubert drove hard into the warm tightness and came, pulling out slowly and thrilling when his seed dripped from between those taut cheeks. “You are a _guest_.”

Claude laughed and rolled over onto his back, the half-hardness there ignored as he sat up gingerly with a wince. Hubert found his face contorting as Claude leaned over and snagged his cravat, wiping the leaking fluid from between his legs. “Bet you say that to all the boys,” he muttered with a wink in a way that was far too reminiscent of Sylvain.

He closed his eyes and set about getting dressed, reaching to drag an ungloved finger over the trove of marks on the dark skin before him. They ranged from blanched white to red and puffy, green, and blues all present in various stages of healing from their trysts. Claude stiffened and his face was blank, likely because Hubert hardly ever touched him without the gloves on and was unsure what to expect. It sent a lightning bolt of thrill through him and he wanted nothing more than to bring the man to his knees, from pleasure, from pain—whatever it took to get the former duke to submit. "I will see you break."

“Say goodnight to Edelgard for me.”

The green eyes glazed over when he dug his thumb into the soft spot behind the man’s jaw; it was a veiled warning. “You will refer to the Lady with the respect she deserves, _dog._ ”

A smirk was all it took and Hubert knew he was losing. “ _Make_ me.”

Hubert caged the other man’s ribs between his knees as he tackled him hard and planted them on the despicably messed covers. His hand was in the familiar position around Claude’s throat and he craned the man’s neck, thumb and forefinger digging into the supple flesh over his carotid artery and jugular vein, pressing, pressing. Claude’s face was red with trapped blood, mouth open slightly, and Hubert longed to watch him drown with lungs full of air and still no oxygen. He shook the neck before him in a motion he longed to follow through to the end until the spine snapped and Claude simply watched him with half-lidded, clouding eyes and it was like a balm to his soul.

The grip loosened and he climbed off to compose himself when he realized he was hard again, throbbing against the button fly of his slacks and Claude smiled and coughed and pushed his foot against the bulge.

Blood dripped down and onto the carpet from where Hubert had slapped the offending appendage away, dagger buried between his fingers, staring at the open gash on Claude’s leg.

“You may possess a crest and a sharp mind, but you are a disgusting half-breed,” he snarled like a poisonous strike, hoping his aim was true, “and you are a thing to be used at my discretion. Do not presume you have the standing to ever touch me.”

He didn’t stop as he shoved his way out to steal a glance at the other man’s face, too afraid he would see a razor smile plastered there.

Let his damnable crest do the work, he thought bitterly to himself, waving off any thought of calling a healer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King prepares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, no warnings! Enjoy :)

Edelgard was talking, moving the figures on the map, but Hubert found himself only barely following along with the words.

Almyra was beginning to press against the throat, threatening the Locket and Holst had been bedridden with grief. His troops offered little aid, toeing the line of outright treason to the Empire, likely in response to their leader and his anger over the way the fateful battle of Derdriu had played out.

“We cannot allow it to fall,” Edelgard hiss icily as she stared at the map. “Our pegasi are currently deployed near Faerghus and it would take far too long to mobilize them. We will need to enlist the Black Eagle Strike Force and hope it is enough to quell it.”

“Yes,” Hubert agreed while looking thoughtful and far off, “we are currently the closest to lend aid to the few troops loyal to our cause there. That being said, Almyra is prized for their wyverns—“

A sharp rap on the door had Hubert’s hackles raised. It was late and they very rarely were interrupted during their private meetings.

Edelgard shot him a questioning look before nodding and he moved toward the solid wooden surface. “Speak.”

“It’s me.”

Wide lilac eyes poured into him and he hastily opened the door at the look in them; anticipation and a spark of triumph? It was hard to tell as it was quelled the next second and smothered with a careful apathy.

Claude gave his little two-fingered salute, wide grin on his face. “A little birdie told me something interesting.”

“What bird would that be?” Hubert demanded as he gripped the doorknob harder, likely imprinting the intricate Gloucester crest into his palm and ran through names and faces in his head of people who could hold any information Claude would find _interesting._ It was a wide array as nearly anything could pique the man’s interest and would require substantial footwork on his part to narrow down.

Edelgard leaned forward; hands flat on either side of the desk and it would be intimidating if Claude felt fear anymore. “Claude. Enter and close the door, if you please.”

“I have to applaud your manners, Edelgard,” Claude replied in a protracted manner, more sluggish than normal and the question flagged in Hubert’s mind if it was from him.

Thankfully the man had somehow obtained a cravat and it was a mystery whether he had bribed the guard somehow or simply asked nicely. The most likely answer was the guard had thought him ill-prepared to appear before Her Highness and found one for him. Words would have to be had about providing the man with anything not pre-approved but he couldn’t be too upset—it covered the teeth marks nicely.

Claude reached and wrapped his fingers around the figure meant to represent the Almyran forces. Eyes drawn as he threw it in the air and flipped it, up and down, up and down, Hubert wanted to smack either his hand or the figure.

Edelgard allowed it and inclined her head. “I assume you are here for a reason, Claude?”

“Oh, I've got something for you, all right,” the man beamed, balancing the figure on the back of his hand, “and you’re not gonna like it.”

“Does this have anything to do with your Almyran brothers-in-arms?”

“Ah, sharp as ever, Your Highness.” He grinned and pointed the figure at her with a wink.

Hubert had other, more pressing questions. “Why should we trust a word that comes from your forked tongue?”

Claude smiled in a guilty but openly unrepentant way. “Word _may_ have gotten out that an Almyran fugitive was brutally killed by Count Gloucester on the way from his employ after being returned and tortured mercilessly. It just so _happens_ that the Almyran army witnessed the fall of Lord Goneril’s _daughter_ _in battle_ with their very own eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to extrapolate when and where to strike. Not only will the forces be minimal with their leader sick with grief, but the Locket is a known weak point between the countries.”

Edelgard looked as if she could be knocked over with a feather. “How would a rumor like that get started, _Claude_? Hubert, were you aware of this?”

“I had heard whispers, Your Majesty.” The words were forced from his mouth. He took the delicate figure and snapped it in half. His gloved fingers plunked half the splintered wooden soldier at Fodlan’s Throat, the other at the coast of Hyrm and a few tiny pieces of wood fell scattered randomly from the uneven break. “A feint. The main bulk of the forces will gather at the coast of Hyrm.”

The man held up his hands in surrender and laughed self-depreciatingly. “It wasn’t me, I swear! You know how these things happen: people see a man leave the servant’s quarters, a man comes back with an armed guard, a man has bruises and all that—“ Hubert felt his stomach drop when the eyes pinned him for a moment, just a second, before turning back to Edelgard “—and it just snowballs from there. Alymrans in this country tend to be pretty tight-knit due to…attitudes here. Look, I’m not saying we can’t fix this.”

“Almyra would risk all-out war over a rumor?”

Claude shrugged, satisfaction rolling off him. “They’ve gone to war for less, honestly.”

Eyes dug into his soul and Claude laughed again, meeting those hawk-like eyes in a battle of wills and both refused to back down. “Like I’m said, I’m sure this whole thing can be cleared up.”

“What do you propose?” Edelgard asked, folding her arms over his chest, a wall between her and the rest of the room, making it clear she knew he dodged the question.

“Well, let’s just say that _here_ —“ Claude tapped the half-man resting at Fodlan’s Throat on the map “—we have a certain General, one who was once in negotiations with the Alliance, so he and someone have had certain positive parlays. I’m sure he’ll understand this is a misunderstanding. A baseless _rumor,_ if he hears it from me, and _only_ me.”

“You do realize,” Hubert said slowly and deliberately, each word weighed carefully, “that if you appear at the same place and time as a pre-ordained attack, followed by the Imperial Army, this _General_ that you speak so fondly of, will most certainly think this information could come from no other but _you_?”

“You think every single Almyran near the border doesn’t know of this, hasn’t been warned away from the conflict?” Claude drummed his fingers on the desk maddeningly with no rhyme or rhythm. “Almyra may be a fighting country always up for a scrap, but even they don’t want to see women and children dragged into things. Your spies are pretty useless if they don’t notice the evacuation there, which is how I’m assuming you know in the first place.”

Edelgard frowned deeply, lines appearing at the very corners of her mouth and she threw her hand out. “I require time. Leave me, both of you.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Hubert retorted at once with a deep bow.

Claude seemed less inclined to leave, looking at the door and licking his lips quickly before he aborted the motion. “I know you’ll make the right call for everyone, Edelgard.”

Once they were outside and a safe distance away, Hubert grabbed Claude by his upper arm tightly and turned him to look at him. He glowered the darkest, most deadly look he could muster. “You’ve obviously been somehow communicating with the staff. If anything happens to Lady Edelgard, I _will_ kill you, von Riegan, no matter how tight your ass. Where is your guard?”

"Guess they had to use the bathroom," he muttered with a shrug and an unconcerned look for the hand nearly snapping his humerus. "And you think my ass is tight? That's so sweet--"

Hubert tossed him toward the end of the hallway and smirked when he nearly tripped over his own two feet. "Get moving."

***

The next day, Edelgard approached him. “You will be leading the Black Eagle Strike Force tomorrow. The Professor and myself will be leading the main squadron in the attack on Hyrm. I don’t exactly trust Claude, but he did come to us with this information on his own, which I believe has to count for something. I trust you to keep an eye on him, Hubert, and do what must be done.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, taking a knee and kissing her hand. “I will see it so.”

Edelgard blushed and it was lovely and left him breathless. He wished he could see it more often.

“Thank you, Hubert,” she replied and nodded, embarrassment stiffening her movements.

He wished he could hold her hand just a bit longer before it slipped from his grasp and she was gone down the hall with a clack of her heels.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King arranges his pawns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings here!

The flapping of wyvern wings was loud but not deafening as expected numbers would suggest.

Claude’s eyes flashed and something unnamable reflected there as he stared straight ahead, avoiding Hubert’s death glare but chin rising in defiance. “I’ll only tell you once, Vestra: don’t do anything stupid. We’re not here to start a war.”

A single wyvern lurched forward from the formation and Hubert vaguely recognized the man atop it.

“Not sure you want to go down this road, kiddo,” Nader boomed as loud as he always was. “The King’s worried you’ve defected.”

A sideways glance and Hubert wondered for the fiftieth time whether he should trust the man to be armed or not. He was certain with Claude’s weakness to magic, it would only take one, good blow but the man was deft and undying as a cockroach and he would only have one chance. Claude did a small double-take at his staring before he grinned and winked, possibly mistaking the undying stare for nervousness. Hubert only just managed to not roll his eyes. He whispered lowly, “I cannot help but hope you get hit by friendly fire.”

"That’s touching, but the King should worry about himself,” Claude half-yelled back, voice steady and completely ignoring Hubert’s words.

“Could take that a lot of ways, kid,” Nader retorted, carefully neutral as his wyvern flapped its wings against the tension between both sides. The older man patted its neck, stilling it for the moment. “Your mother tells him you’re pretty smart but I can tell ya, from here, it looks like you’re in over your head.”

“Nah.” It was a haughty reply he knew Nader could see right through. “I can handle this. Get out of here.”

A dark look passed over the battle-worn face before a hand axe was thrown suddenly and Hubert ducked, the axe barely missing taking his head off. He rolled and readied a spell, any spell, but Claude fired an arrow in an instant and it burst through Nader’s right shoulder, apathy written across his face. “Don’t test me, Nader. Retreat.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, son,” Nader yelled before rearing, wyvern bellowing out the sound to advance.

Bernadetta screeched in fear as a wyvern landed right next to her and Hubert sent his spell flying before he could think about it, black spikes piercing both the wyvern and the rider and they both collapsed with twin cries, echoed by Bernadetta as she once more screamed at nearly being squashed.

The formation was clumped and messier than Claude remembered but left plenty of time and area for him to disappear from prying eyes.

He really just hoped no one died.

Claude ran forward once Hubert was out of sight and rolled out of the way a stray lance, landing under some brush. It scratched his face but nothing more and he took aim at Nader from a much closer range than he normally would have liked.

“You’re not getting the message,” Claude growled as an axe hurtled at him, an arrow deflecting it just enough to miss him entirely as he rolled from under the bush.

“Of course I did,” Nader yelled, axe clutched in his left hand.

 _Good,_ Claude thought. He had worked much too hard to see the information from his satchel lost. It was priceless and irreplaceable, gathered in one place from his stores at the Riegan mansion before the battle, files and documents from generations coming together in a single scrapbook. Jeralt’s diary, his grandfather’s files, legends of the Saints of old, maps of Garreg Mach where he had spirited information scraps to return later for, forbidden books stolen from Seteth’s collection and the underground network of the Abyss, charcoal impressions of the names and dates in the graveyard. “What of the wyverns?”

Nader grunted when an arrow just missed removing his ear. “Under our wings. You?”

Also excellent. He couldn’t imagine Judith or any of the other innocent people who did nothing but have faith in him executed. It eased his heart to know they were safe.

“You know me: fanged to the last,” he hissed as he blocked the axe blow with his generic bow and redirected easily. It was no Failnaught but it would have to do. “Go before I really have to kill you and make it look good, willya?”

“You stand your ground, boy. You mother and I will be disappointed if you back down. You got that crest of hers for a reason, now do something good with it.” Nader’s eyes sparked and he howled, wyvern echoing in a bellow of retreat.

“Stay alert for a second volley,” Hubert yelled as the wings retreated into the sky and were finally gone, “and tend to the wounded at once!” He didn’t expect the clap of a hand on the sensitive back of his neck and being steered toward the fort. “ _You_ , with me, _now._ ”

***

“You lying _bastard_ ,” Hubert spat at him as he was all but thrown into a vacant room, shoved into a rickety chair he was honestly surprised didn’t collapse. “There was never any attack on Hyrm, was there? That—that _battle_ —was a complete set-up from the start!”

Claude shrugged. “I had my suspicions that Almyra wouldn’t manage to rally an army that size so quickly, but I don’t know all their tricks.” He snuck a look at the other man and inwardly smiled.

Hubert sagged against the wall and fisted his hair viciously. “Lady Edelgard will have my head.”

“Aren’t you being a _tad_ dramatic? Look,” Claude whispered, leaning forward in an exact replica of the pose he had that day in the library, “how were you supposed to know? Your information is only ever as good as your source. Edelgard was willing to gamble; it’s why she didn’t pull the troops from where they’re engaged in the West. Besides, Almyrans may be tight-knit due to alienation and discrimination, but I’m half-Fodlanese. They see me as an outsider, too. They just played this one closer to the vest, is all.”

“Why, pray tell, would they lie to you? And why offer this to me, of all people?”

“I really don’t know, but if I had to guess, all this was a ploy to see if I was alive and if I truly had sided with Edelgard or not. I also would go so far as to say they wanted to get a feel for how things were here. Should they prepare for a mass populous influx fleeing Empire suppression? So, word went out through families, I’m guessing, not any sort of giant, secret information network.” Claude waved his hand. “Just people checking on their loved ones. It’s not hard to overhear things in the servant’s quarters, Vestra, if you spend some time there. You can find out all _sorts_ of things from the common folk and eavesdropping. Anyway, if I had to go one step _further_ —“ Claude stood abruptly and started to pace “—I’d say that’s all the movement at the border was. The Empire’s on a tear and it’s only natural the civilians would move more inward. I’m betting troops will be stationed along the border soon enough, peacefully, of course. No need to ask for trouble, but always prepare for it.”

“None of that explains why they would lie to you.”

“I didn’t say they lied. I said they see me as an outsider. But, believe me, if they saw the chance, the higher-ups in the country would kill me in a heartbeat. They already don’t trust me because I _am_ half-Fodlanese but to them, if I’m here, and the Alliance is dissolved, that equates to working with you. They’ll see no other reason I haven’t returned and if I _do_ return, they’ll assume I’ve been sharing secrets with you the whole time. So, congratulations, Hubert. You’ve gotten what you’ve truly wanted: to see me impotent and at your mercy. Figuratively on the impotent part, I hope. I’m in open water without a sail in the Empire if I leave and I’ve a target on my back in Almyra.”

“Your father is a dignitary. Why would he assume you have betrayed Almyra?”

“Whether my father thinks that or not changes nothing. My father,” Claude whispered darkly, “is married to a Fodlan woman and that alone is enough to have him executed were he _not_ a dignitary. If he were a commoner, not only would he be dead, but I would be without the right to use public spaces, hold positions of government, join a battalion, or hold land. As it is, it just means he’s been mostly scorned no matter what action he takes as far as reforms and law-making. This whole thing will just be seen as an inevitable returning to my poisoned roots and—as my Almyran grandmother used to say--a diseased tree must always be cut down for the good of the orchard.”

Hubert folded his arms. “You have many connections in the Empire. I sincerely doubt any would turn you down if you were to inquire about their aid. Not to mention, you are just as likely to steal away to Faerghus.”

“Not likely on either account. Half the Alliance Lords never liked me, the other half only tolerated me. And we both know Faerghus may have the sheer might, but they don’t have the economic standing of the Empire. Sure, Brigid may offer some covert support, but it won’t be nearly enough to supplement their weak crop harvests. They’ll starve within weeks if you were to choke off their supply lines. I won’t even mention their relations with Sreng, so they’re not going to offer aid there.”

“I’ll give it to you that you may have thought out the consequences thoroughly and been forced to the right path with Lady Edelgard,” Hubert snarled, “but I certainly won’t trust you to uphold it.”

“Do I really have a choice?"

Claude’s smile was disarming but Hubert could sense that yes, he really thought he did have a choice.

He just didn’t know what it was.

“Why did you shoot a former ally for me?” Hubert breathed, bent at the waist and close enough to scrutinize the individual hairs that made up Claude’s dark, long eyelashes. They were almost feminine, at odds with his face, his beard that needed trimming.

Claude craned his neck back, trying to get Hubert out of his space or get himself out of Hubert's, and it was an awkward gesture that didn’t line up with the rest of him. “Uh—it was—uh, a reflex. Don’t take it to heart.”

Hubert chuckled darkly and watched the other man’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed like he had the first night he had had his space invaded. “A reflex. Interesting.”

The chair tipped back and Claude stretched, knitting his hands behind his head in a gesture of nonchalance. His beet-red face and sudden inability to make eye contact said otherwise and Hubert leaned farther into his space. Claude leaned back even farther; head turned away, when he suddenly flailed with a noise of panic and threw his hands onto Hubert’s shoulders to keep from falling backward.

He was further steadied by hands on the back of that chair, holding him in place, suspended backward at an angle but in no danger of falling any longer.

The hairs of his beard were glossy from being washed and he could catch the faint smell of faded adrenaline and the soap provided back at the estate. It was floral and didn’t suit Claude at all and he watched the man’s pulse point begin the beat faster in his neck. The cold, acrid stink of fear wasn’t present, only a musk and the tang of budding arousal and it felt as if his blood had become a warm mulled wine.

“…uh. Thanks?”

“A reflex,” he purred, only inches from that neck he wanted his mouth on. He let go of the chair and stood up all at once, the ridiculousness of their positions dawning on him as voices travelled and bounced off the stone walls. “Think nothing of it.”

He bustled out and Claude narrowed his eyes and smiled, willing his heartbeat to slow back to normal.

The whole thing had gone much better than he expected, honestly.

***

“You disappoint me, Hubert.”

“A thousand apologies would not be enough, My Lady.”

“Silence. You have wasted time, _valuable time_ , not to mention supplies and soldiers and for what? A countryside trip? I expect better of your information. You have never been wrong before.”

“You are most correct, My Liege. Please tell me but which punishment you wish and I will see it dispatched with both force and haste.”

“You are lucky we have recently acquired support of the former Alliance Lords or we would be in a much worse position than we are now.” Edelgard seemed to be speaking to herself as she muttered and stared at the maps before her. Hubert’s knee had begun to hurt. “You are to depart for Enbarr tonight. All arrangements have been made. You are dismissed. I must confer with the Professor and Ferdinand to figure out the best way to assimilate the resources acquired as quickly as possible.”

He rose soundlessly and headed toward the door, a quiet “please guide me, my teacher” making his insides boil. It wasn’t so long ago that Edelgard would be asking his guidance.

This war needed to end quickly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King lays a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> None.

The trip to Enbarr had been uneventful, travel in a plain, unremarkable carriage through small towns dotting the country. Hubert had found his things trunked and packed from the Gloucester estate already and Claude had been allowed to greet and say goodbyes. Lysithea had thrown herself at him and cried. It had been a spectacle and one Hubert would have rather not been forced to witness.

Feelings were superfluous to his existence but it would remiss for him to try and deny that when he had seen his belongings, already bundled up and ready for travel, a spark of hurt and anger had flared to life. However, he had no right to such feelings if Lady Edelgard deemed his presence required elsewhere. She had been cross with him, yes, of course she had, but that didn’t mean he was no longer useful to her.

It didn’t mean he was slated for replacement at her side.

He closed his eyes and slammed his book after blotting the ink on a piece of parchment for the umpteenth time when the carriage jogged over a bump in the road. It snapped it his hand and he threw it out the window in disgust, watching Claude’s head bounce lightly off the velvet side of the cab and wondering how he was managing to sleep through that.

It had to be rattling the man’s brain but that really would explain more than a few things.

They had been at it for more than five hours now and his back was beginning to protest.

Carriages were a bane.

He took the actual quiet as a chance to study copies of the maps Edelgard had provided, future territory laid out against past and present, obstacles sketched clearly by the Imperial Cartographer.

They reached the edge of the city and Claude nodded a final time as the carriage bumped onto the cobblestone and yanked his head up with a snort. “Where?”

“Where _what_ , you ignorant buffoon?” He snapped, gritting his teeth against the quill jumping while Claude stared at him blearily.

“Where are we? How long was I asleep?”

“Well, it was light when we left,” Hubert said with a patience he didn’t feel one iota of, “and now it appears to be—oh, yes, nightfall. Feel free to extrapolate on your own.”

“You’re in a good mood,” his companion yawned, stretching as much as the height of the cab ceiling would allow, “yay, this bodes well for me, I can tell.”

Hubert rubbed circles around his temples with two fingers and accepted that his concentration was lost. He rolled the map back up and placed it beside him.

They rode in silence for quite some time; Claude’s arms crossed and slightly folded in on himself as he looked out the window with a curious gaze.

Market stalls had packed up for the evening but there was still plenty of hustle and bustle, the occasional couple nicely dressed for the opera in passing carriages or walking arm-in-arm. “I’ve never been to the opera. Pretty much everyone back at the Academy used to talk about it in some capacity or another, but…I dunno. Just never got a chance, I guess. It’s just hard to think life goes on like normal even during a war, people going out and doing normal things, going normal places. Having fun.”

“There will always be those unaffected by it,” he heard himself mutter, mirroring Claude’s body language.

He was thankful when the carriage stopped and the driver opened the door with a flourish.

Gesturing for Claude to precede him, Hubert stood and gathered his map. The servants would bring the rest in and he had learned it was best to have Claude in front of him rather than behind.

The door to the stone-walled home opened before either could touch it and a lanky middle-aged man bowed deeply. “Welcome back, Lord von Vestra. Things have been arranged as you have asked; I sincerely hope it is to your liking. The chef has prepared dinner. Will you take it in your rooms or in the dining room?”

Hubert glanced at Claude before he replied, “The dining area, thank you. See the trunks up and keep this in my office.”

It was valuable, then.

Holding out the map, the man took it and bowed deeply again. “As you wish, My Lord.”

Hubert led Claude down the hallway and gestured to the dining room. A different servant pulled out a chair that he helped Claude into, Hubert sitting smoothly and placing a napkin in his lap. Claude hesitated for a half second before copying the motions.

“…What is it now?”

He glanced up to see the frown on the dark bishop’s face. “Um. Nothing. Just. You really…like portraits, huh?”

The servant in the corner choked on a laugh that he managed to turn into a cough and audibly gulped when Hubert shot him a look before rubbing his temples. “My father prized them. I would rather see them burn.”

Claude forced an odd, lopsided smile, all the faces vaguely resembling Hubert’s. They were obviously his ancestors and, just as obviously, he wasn’t very fond of them. “…Oh.”

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

“No, no,” Claude started before he gushed, “well, since you asked…there’s just an obvious family resemblance. Kind of uncanny.”

He honestly thought it best not to mention that every single one of them, including the females, looked almost as stern as Hubert and it only seemed to become more concentrated the farther the generations went down. Unsure if it was intermarriage or simply that opposites didn’t always attract, Claude closed his mouth and subversively took in the room. It would probably bode best for him if he didn’t offend the man, however tempted he was to keep going.

It wasn’t large and had no windows, but was ornately decorated with detailed red wallpaper, blood red velvet chairs, dark walnut accented on nearly everything, and the chandelier and candles did not help with the overall stuffy posh feel. It was claustrophobic and the former duke wondered if this, obviously being the ancestral home, was where the man in front of him had grown up and, if so, it explained a little about his need for appearances. A fabricated closeness was no substitute for the real thing.

The atmosphere seemed to have an effect on their appetites, intentional or not (the room hadn’t been purposely arranged to instill discomfort and cause an early retirement of those in it, had it? Actually, yeah, probably.). Claude found himself uninterested in whatever casserole was served (it had vegetables and cheese and something squishy on the bottom he scraped off) and Hubert was likely inclined. The side dishes were all right but he sharply recalled something Sylvain would bolster about every time his favorite meal was served: “You know, I never realized until I came to the Academy, but no one back in Faerghus knows how to cook.”

Hubert finally brought his gloved hands up to rest, folded, under his chin as he leaned forward over his half-picked at plate. “I have business to attend to. I have no need or desire to be your wet-nurse here as was required back in new Empire territory. Do what you will here as long as you do it quietly."

“And you’re not concerned about me strolling right through the front doors and not returning?”

Hubert laughed, a true laugh filled with mirth, as if Claude had told an insanely funny joke. “You’re in House von Vestra in the heart of the Empire; even if you did, you would come back to this house one way or another.”

Voluntarily. Captured. In a body bag.

So many options and none of them worth contemplating. It would be disheartening to a lesser man but, to Claude, it was simply a challenge.

“And my chambers?”

A mordant smile crawled across the other man’s pale face. “There are several guest rooms that I have no doubt you will have rummaged through before the night is over, much as a magpie does shiny objects. You will find any one of them quite suitable to your needs. However, should you require something essential that seems to be lacking, Bennet shall be most delighted to assist you.” Hubert shot the man a dark look. “If he would like to peruse the shops, do keep an eye on him. He is quite slippery. Now, as I said, I have business to attend. See to it that he does not disturb me at all costs.”

Claude smiled brightly at the man in the corner after Hubert left abruptly. He couldn’t be too hard on the dark bishop: being thoroughly thrown away by the object of not only his loyalty, but utter fealty and desire (which Hubert likely wasn’t even aware of, emotionally constipated as he was), had to sting and he had every intention of probing the wound. 

Turnabout being fair play and all that.

***

It took him hardly any time at all to shake off poor Bennet, who he hoped he hadn’t earned a beating, stripping off his clothes in one of the posh guest rooms. One look at the bite marks and bruising and the mousy-haired man had yelped and made his retreat, mumbling something about ringing the servants’ bell if he required anything. Whether it had been the fact that he had explicitly been deemed permission to roam where he may, or that he had been brought in the first place, Claude was sure the two warred in the man’s mind until they joined and it became obvious he was a kept man in whatever capacity.

It took slightly longer to locate Hubert’s private quarters and pick the lock with the wiring from the back of one of the many paintings (it hadn’t been another angry portrait) that littered the estate.

Hubert was seated in one corner, leaned over and absorbed in a map. His gloves were discarded, a rare sight that had Claude’s heart skipping beats, and a nugget of Pavlovian disgust and arousal burned low in his stomach even as the other man supported his head with two fingers on his temple, a gesture borrowed from earlier in the day.

“Have you taken a vulnerary?”

The sharp eyes closed for a moment in annoyance before settling on him and burning through Claude’s skin. “I underestimated you. I had thought it would take you longer.”

“I’m glad I can still surprise you at this point in our relationship,” he bark-laughed, perching on the edge of the desk and certainly closer than needed in the other man’s space. It gave Hubert ample reach to steal those fingers around his throat as he was so fond of doing, watching his face as Claude allowed it, stuffing his panic deep down where other unpleasant things may keep it company in his darkness.

The hands didn’t move and the terrain on the map was familiar to him. It was another advantage he could steal, lining his armor with Hubert’s trust as he robbed him blind.

Half-expecting Hubert to roll it up, Claude was surprised when he was just watched.

“Here,” Claude offered, a finger coming to land on a particular bit of land near the border between what used to be the Alliance and Faerghus. “I know this hill and, if you have people at the bottom of it in a rainstorm, it’s prone to landslides. A cartel of merchants was lost to one a few years ago. It was huge deal to the Alliance Lords because they kept squabbling over whose responsibility it was to pay for the bridge repairs. I suppose it doesn’t have to be water that causes it—a nice blast should do it—but it happens nearly yearly during the rainy season. Not on the scale it did that time, but it’s still pretty destructive anyway.”

Hubert narrowed his eyes. “And you’re sharing this with me why? I had believed you and the King of Faerghus were allies.”

“We were,” he stated matter-of-factly, “but I was going to bide my time before I asked him to give up the throne. He’s not called the Mad King for nothing, Hubert, and nothing good comes from unstable rulers. Even he knows that but Edelgard is Edelgard and he would rather rule insane than give up anything to her. She seems to inspire a lot of complex feelings in a lot of people.” Claude held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and chuckled. “No offense, Vestra, no offense.”

The emotions cascaded under the dark bishop’s mask and Claude watched as they ticked by like a forgotten book whose cover he had pried open for the first time in millennia; humiliation, likely at getting called out on something; anger, raging at himself for allowing insight and likely Claude dragging Edelgard into it; jealousy, possibly for mentioning Dimitri in the same sentence as Edelgard. Confusion. Wanthurtlonlinessabandonedinsecureunworthy. “What am I to be offended by, _exactly_?”

Claude’s smile wavered on his face and he lowered his hands to his thighs. “Uh—? I mean—“

 _There_ was the hand on his throat and he was on his back, a quill snapping and digging into the skin of his hip, exposed by one of the stupid, plain shirts he had been given at the very start of his captivity that were all too short in the torso to varying degrees. The desk was freezing on the sliver of his exposed lower back and he shivered, goose bumps erupting along his arms. Hubert was sneering over him, an intimidating picture of quietly withheld rage.

“What am I to be offended by, _Claude_?”

The word went to his groin in a way he hated as he began to harden in his thin pants. The hand loosened just enough to let him croak words and his nails dug into the wood. “Edelgard. Not seeing you.”

Hubert let him go abruptly as if _he_ were the one pained. Claude supposed he was. “Lady Edelgard _notices_ me every day.”

Claude leaned back on one elbow, torso twisted to lean on his other arm, fingers caressing the area on his throat. The darkness twisted around his smile and the hairs on the back of Hubert’s neck raised. “Whatever you say, Vestra.”

“Get out.”

As shocked as he was by the words, Claude stood and rearranged his clothes. He had fully expected Hubert to be extremely rough with him, to teach him a lesson, make him pay for his words and the way they seemed to shatter the other man. He had come expecting to be taken dry or forced onto his knees and choked by that cock down his throat. That would certainly be new and he was honestly surprised Hubert hadn't added it to his list of tricks already.

Retreat was not a mode of Hubert’s he had experienced.

“Take something for your head, Hubert,” he replied silkily, bowing slightly before leaving and feeling daggers dug into the flesh of his back from those eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King seizes the advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> Hubert is super bad at all the feels. Claude presses this advantage. This is the result of pure emotional manipulation on Claude's part. If that isn't your cup of tea...

A few days after arriving, Hubert strolled into the dining room and sat. It was abrupt after having gone days without seeing the other man despite being in the same house. It wasn't as if the house were particularly large or expansive; Hubert just seemed to have been cooped up in his quarters, sulking or otherwise.

Which was fine, as far as Claude was concerned--even preferable. He had no new marks, bruises, or aches. They had healed and he had been allowed to roam the shops, everything going on the tab of Minister Vestra, going so far as to obtain a haircut and a trimming of his beard. He'd found he'd actually become quite fond of it over the weeks and was in a current debate whether to keep it or not. It made him conspicuous in Fodlan as not many men had full beards, preferring styled, short facial hair (or none at all) that needed meticulous and frequent grooming. Almyran men preferred the opposite: natural growth with no frills.

Just another way two countries so close differed on such small things.

The food was brought in by two different servants upon silver platters, drink ware laid out by a third, a fourth bending over to offer a bottle of wine. It was a flurry of activity that always had mildly surprised Claude at his lone meals. After all, during a war, how many servants could the house possibly employ in the service of a single master that was mostly absent?

"My late father's idea of competition," Hubert offered, likely reading the way his companion's eyes jumped from one servant to the next. Claude nodded politely, not exactly sure what competition this was supposed to win but nobles did love outdoing each other. He waved off the bottle of wine and the servant advanced on Claude. "It seemed like making a mountain out of a molehill to address it after his...death, with the war and all that. However, they have proved most useful in a great many things."

 _Execution_ , Claude's mind supplied helpfully at the way the dark bishop spoke of his father’s “death”. It was a cleansing, ordered by Edelgard, and they might be in vastly different circumstances if the man didn’t hate his father as much as the Emperor hated corruption. Hubert's wording about the usefulness of his servants was also odd and Claude had the sneaking suspicion he was in a house full of spies. Perhaps assassins. Dark mages? That would explain so much, really.

“I’ll be leaving for the front lines tonight. Her Majesty has asked me to be beside her in battle.”

“Naturally,” Claude retorted, not unkindly, watching the man radiate a preening aura. “A commander is only as good as their tactician.”

“I never believed I would see the day we were to agree on something,” Hubert muttered, nearly under his breath.

“Wonders never cease,” he replied, popping a piece of meat into his mouth, “as it seems we agree again. I always knew we could do great things together.”

Hubert fought the blush mostly successfully at the salacious wink, only the tips of his ears reddening. “Yes, well, it would be frightening if you were to suddenly become so sensible.”

The smile at the very corners of the man’s mouth had Claude smiling and the rest of the time before the departure was uncharacteristically pleasant. 

  
  


***

It was a further week before the man returned, late in the night and with no warning.

Hubert stood near the edge of the bed Claude called his own, cape soaked and clinging to him, silent and unmoving like a gargoyle.

Claude reclined against the headboard with a book open on his lap, bracing for the night to go one of two ways and resigned when Hubert sighed heavily.

“Why did you warn me about that position?”

Narrowing his eyes, Claude made his mouth form the rehearsed words he had prepared like a speech. “Do you really want to know, Hubert?” _It’s the mid-season rains. I knew the place. It was lucky for both of us._

The dark bishop turned and slowly leaned forward. Claude braced for the pulling of his hair, the yank of his jaw, the odd candle extinguishing, but the only thing he received was a hand softly cupping behind his neck as he was gently guided forward into a soft kiss. “I yearn to know a great many things.”

“Then the man of knowledge must be able to not only love his enemies, but to hate his friends,” Claude retorted with his sunny smirk, head lolled back and watching him through dark lashes like he was a new poison whose effects had yet to be studied.

Hungry eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke, watching as they moved to form the words, and part of Claude loved it, reveled in it, _thrilled_ in it. Those hands, gloved even now, could reach out and take his very life and they both knew his soul would dance and twist and flow through the grasping fingers, laughing, something bright and evasive always and he knew the thought left Hubert empty and desperate in a way the man wasn’t able to understand. He couldn’t understand why Claude’s spirit stood strong despite taking so many blows while his own seemed to crumble despite receiving none.

It had been a near miss, yelling over the din of the rain, that opened from the heavens as if the Goddess herself demanded, and carnage to tell Her Majesty and the Professor to get away from the hill, making desperate motions from too far away to be seen in the dark. The land had indeed begun to shift as Claude predicted and the Professor had covered Edelgard, intending to take the blow there was no way to solely absorb, but he managed to cast Hades, followed quickly by Banshee, whatever hurtling mass not blasted sky-high sunk into the underworld.

If he hadn’t been prepared for it, the entire backbone of the Empire could have been lost in one fell swoop _._

He wondered vaguely if Edelgard and the Professor had slept together afterward, the adrenaline surging, and he clenched his hands so hard there were blood drops through the fabric.

Claude was before him though, a little puzzled but present as always, and Hubert threw himself into him as the words echoed from that mouth and around his brain: _Edelgard. Not seeing you._

 _Lady Edelgard_ notices _me every day._

The man’s voice sing-songed in his mind that they weren’t the same thing and something inside him snapped.

The dark mage was a starving man and Claude was a feast and he took and took and took, desperate and out of control in a way he had only experienced once before, leaving room for the seed of some raw, disgusting, bone-deep feeling to burst from its corners and leave him shaking from it just as he had when Lady Edelgard was snatched from him all those years ago. The thing had stagnated, wilted in the dark, become twisted and he was dying. He was dying every time he watched Edelgard with the stars in her eyes as the Professor simply existed and the feeling twisted sharper in his gut like a knife as it slowly eviscerated him, trying to leave him happy for her but only leaving him emptier as they seemed to grow farther apart.

Pain sprouted from the marks on his palms as Claude laved at them, first through the gloves and then bare skin as Hubert was stripped of them, digging the tip of his clever tongue deliciously into them, and he realized keeping Edelgard by his side forever had never been an option, especially with her second crest slashing her lifespan and being stolen away and he wanted to wail.

He ripped Claude’s shirt open (it must be new, it hugged his frame and it had to go), scratching gently down the skin there as he tasted, feeling all of it before the belt and britches became too annoying of an obstacle and he desperately yanked them away until Claude lay naked and panting under him, head turned to the side and eyes screwed shut as he so often did. They turned to slits when Hubert reached into the bedside drawer and fumbled far back into a forgotten, disused corner.

Claude winced when he pulled the object out, expecting some sort of pain when it was dripped onto his erection and further back slickly. He started to quiver silently at the warming sensation and hissed loudly when Hubert gathered some of it on his fingers and worked one in. It was something they hadn’t used before as Hubert preferred spit and cruelty and it was slowly tearing his walls down as he worked the need to keep braced for pain.

Hubert kept working him, fingers splaying inside the velvet heat, before he finally decided to move on top of Claude and slide in much more gently than ever before.

The brunette writhed and kept his cries behind clenched teeth until he couldn’t anymore; the thrusts deep and exactly where he needed them to be and almost more than he could stand. His hands fisted in Hubert’s hair, remembrance that he didn’t have permission to touch making him twitch away but then he yelped when his prostate was struck, something that had always been carefully and deliberately avoided with restrained movements and a deadly self-control, and his hands clung harder.

They kissed deeply and Hubert felt himself get lost in it, the little twitches and jerks of the body under him fascinating when he played him just right. He moaned lowly and all too soon he spilled inside the man under him before he pulled out and buried his face between those lithe legs to hide his face from the way the damned man’s eyes had looked at him, a singular focal point in the entirety of the world as he cracked apart.

“Hubert! Hng, _yes_ —ahhhh, I’m close, _I’m so close, please_ \--“

He came back to his senses when the hot, salty seed lashed his tongue and he sucked greedily, draining every last drop so he could hollow the man out and climb inside and build himself better, lose himself inside those cries and never have to leave and exist as himself again. Claude had never made noise before beyond grunts and hisses and Hubert had always gotten what he wanted, uncaring if his partner finished by him or even not at all, and Claude had been not at all, in no small part due to his inability to hold back the urge to injure and it was so much, too much, to have this now.

Hubert feared the man’s half-choked shout when he threw his head back in ecstasy would wake the entire house but it mattered little, his own head boxed between shaking thighs, calloused hands buried deeply in his hair, and his brain had vacated post-haste as the man’s chest heaved through a second wave of his first orgasm in...Hubert had no idea. 

But he desperately craved for it and the feeling was deep and unthinkably strong, a parallel to the very man beneath him and why had he not tried this before when he coveted that voice crying out in pain and screaming his name in agony as he writhed? Wasn’t the man beneath him a helpless puddle all the same?

Suddenly he hated that he was such a coward and covered the exposure of his vulnerable insides with another kiss, more touches, exploring the body beneath him until Claude was too breathless to speak, hard again and he was hard again and he fucked him long and languid until he lost count and Claude’s voice was hoarse and surely, if anyone hadn’t been awoken by his first yell, they most certainly were the ones subsequent to it until all the sounds the man could make were whimpers and mumbled mono-syllables.

He wasn’t sure if he was losing his mind or not but he wanted to be able to rewind time as the Professor could, listen to those sounds over and over again forever, heat throbbing in the pool of his stomach eroding any will he had to leave.

So he didn’t.

When dawn came and Claude was asleep beside him, body kiss-bruised and exhausted, no inch of that tanned skin unexplored or lonely, and with the sheets disgusting in a way he would never have allowed himself to linger on before, he tried to reach for the urge to make him suffer, to hurt him, to go back to the way things were and he was derelict and empty of it.

Instead he stole away to a long bath, afraid of what may slither in to take its place and hoped to wash it away.

***

Edelgard visited a week later and sipped her tea in one of the drawing rooms, watching him quietly from her place on the settee. Once his panacea in times of unrest, she was now strangely muted and withdrawn.

“Lady Edelgard, you asked me some time ago whether or not I was alright. I would ask the same of you now,” he ventured slowly, as he would something unpredictable. He had absolutely no experience with this, wasn’t even sure if the words were the correct ones or not.

“I…tire of this war, Hubert.”

“My Lady, you need not walk this road alone. Please, use me as you see fit to decrease your burdens.”

Edelgard smiled sadly. “I wish I could, Hubert. It isn’t something that can be delegated.”

Hubert furrowed his brow and Edelgard sighed. “Once this war is over and peace is achieved and reforms made, I will abdicate the throne. I…have never been one for matters of the heart, but…there is someone I wish to exist with, simply as Edelgard.”

_Just as Claude._

He squashed the recollection of the words viciously and ignored the fear down his spine. Just because they were the same words did not mean they were speaking about the same things ( _this wasn’t love_ ) and the remembered pain and desperation in them as they had passed the man’s lips made him suddenly ill. “The Professor wishes for that as well, I’m certain.”

Her eyes widened fractionally before she frowned and looked away. “So you’ve known.” 

The jolt to his chest was oddly muted at the thought of them together and that in itself was concerning as his liege confirmed every suspicion he had. He felt oddly detached and it occurred to him that never before had there been a time where he did not exist for anything more than pain, to cleave a path for the young woman in front of him, and that was certainly a thought. _Young_. Edelgard was younger than he, certainly, but also young. She had been stolen and shut away and molded into the shape of an adult while still a child. Such was the responsibility of those destined to rule, but hers was extreme by any standards, unspeakable and traumatic.

Did she know who Edelgard was outside of her role as Emperor? Did he?

Did she feel the same way about him?

Unaware of her companion’s sudden descent into an existential crisis, Edelgard continued. “Well, it’s no matter, I suppose. I have no plans to change my mind, but the matter of a successor is one that lays heavily on it. I think it should be merit-based, but I’ve no idea how to measure such a thing…or how to take into account the Professor's wants as well. Listen to me, prattling on. Apologies, Hubert.”

“Be reassured there is no need for any such words, Your Majesty,” he replied on auto-pilot, boxing the inner panic in. “I suggest we move on to less discontented topics, however, if I may.”

“Oh, of course,” she responded in kind and he could see the way her eyes and face shuttered. “Have you pondered our next strike point?”

It was better this way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bishop falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> -Ferdinand has a crush  
> -Jealous/Possessive Hubert  
> -Dirty talk  
> -Injured Hubert

Ferdinand looked reassured in a way he most likely didn’t feel, waves of discomfort seeming to radiate off his frame. It was clear as day, Claude thought, as he lounged on one of the library’s sofas and watched Edelgard, Hubert, and the orange-haired man work and strategize.

For their part, the other two either had forgotten he was there or had been ignoring him but Ferdinand would sneak small looks every so often, glances before he would rip his eyes away when Claude smiled at him. Then he would bend his head back over the table, strands of hair reaching out with static toward Hubert and his face would become slightly redder, as if he were imbibing in wine instead of tea. He touched the tips of his fingers to his lips before his fingers crept back, tucking strands of the flowing locks behind his ear, the pattern repeating whenever Hubert spoke.

After one such look at Claude, when turning back to listen to what Hubert had to say, their fingers had overlapped on the last clean mug.

“Beg pardon,” Ferdinand muttered, going redder and yanking his hand away as if burned and if the way he cradled those fingers with his other hand didn’t give it away, nothing would, Claude thought, “forgive me. I had thought, with you being our gracious host—yet you have not partaken of the refreshments—I had thought to pour you some coffee.”

“Most cordial, but I had intended to offer you a new blend of tea that has just been imported—“

Claude laughed and started coughing, finally getting enough air to excuse himself from the library.

Edelgard glowered, Ferdinand looked mortified, and Hubert frowned heavily.

He didn’t have to wait long until Hubert advanced on him.

“Care to explain?”

“You don’t know?”

Hubert kept the frown and folded his arms across his chest, white gloved fingers drawing accidental attention to his black-clothed biceps when he drummed the fingers of one hand against the muscles there. Well, Claude could see maybe, a teeny, tiny bit, where Ferdinand was coming from. He was getting frustrated and very visibly willing himself to be patient. “Would I ask if I did?”

“Ferdinand likes you.” Claude wanted to keep smiling but the stark vulnerability (where once he would have forced the answer out of Claude and now simply asked) of the man in front of him was a sharp contrast to the bumbling innocence of Ferdinand and the humor of the moment was gone.

“Does he now?” Hubert was crowding him, forcing him back toward the wall. “Are you certain? Because he seemed to be looking at _you_.”

Claude rested his forehead against the wall and ground back into the man when he was flipped and pushed up against the paneling of the room, a strong thigh shoving between his own.

“You were obviously watching him yourself,” Hubert hissed hotly on the hairs of the back of his neck, no doubt in his voice that caused Bernadetta to climb the walls, followed by his tongue and those teeth. “Tell me if I’m wrong.”

He leaned his head back and, surprisingly, Hubert took his weight. The man was astonishingly and deceptively physically strong, also with deceptively warm hands. It was a contrast Claude hated that he knew. “ _Obviously_ I was watching him. He was uncomfortable I was there.”

“How do you think he’d feel now,” the taller man said with a ghost of air against Claude’s ear, “knowing this room shares a wall? Ferdinand, just on the other side, standing with his tea, what do you think he would do? Would he spill the tea on the rug, I wonder? Shatter the teacup? How uncomfortable would he be now, seeing you squirm like this? Would he stare then?”

“Hubert _shitshitshit_ \--”

A hot tongue in his ear drove him up onto his toes with a barely restrained sound, breathing a rapid staccato rhythm when the words, “ _you think they don’t suspect already?_ ” were jeered into the same ear, fine fingers reaching to grope him through his pants. “Need I remind you? You are mine. Let them hear.”

Claude huffed, caught between Hubert’s taller bulk and the wall, gloved hand down his pants and it definitely looked like they weren’t moving anytime soon. The statement had something swirling in him and he couldn’t pull it apart enough to separate except that it was strong and he was drowning on it and he groaned louder than he would have liked before he bit his tongue. “Fuck, not here—“

“How can you say that when you’re already in this state?” The hand jerked him, gloves a rough counterpoint to the slide of the hand and Hubert was bracing them against the wall with one arm, chin hooked on his shoulder to _watch_ and what the fuck was that except making his hips give small little jerks. The clothed thumb rubbed over the slick head every so often and Hubert hummed and mouthed the point of his jaw he had used to take such pleasure in digging the very thumb on his prick into and Claude was close after a pathetically short amount of time.

Fingers slid into his mouth and he could taste the cleanliness of the fabric mixed with something uniquely Hubert. Instinctively, he bit them, and the body behind him hitched closer at that, grip on him tightening minusculely and Claude arched his back and went back up onto his toes again and came in rough spatters over the white of the glove, globs dripping. Hubert scooped them up and rubbed them between his index finger and thumb as if inspecting a surface for dust, something unreadable on his face before a private, predatory smile curled over his lips.

His bulk and warmth was gone in an instant, leaving Claude’s head spinning for more reasons than one and he panted against the wallpaper.

***

A week later exactly, Claude found it exorbitantly hard to breathe and rose from a dream of drowning in a rush of panic. He looked down to see the dark head rising and falling, Hubert laying lengthwise on him, side of his face exceptionally warm and swollen. His left arm bracketed Claude's head and the soft silk of his shirtsleeves caressed his cheekbone. The gold cufflinks Hubert was so fond of, the Imperial crest etched onto one, the crest of House von Vestra the other, had been taken out (or at least one had) and the cuff by his face was undone. It was something less than perfection that Hubert would never stand for.

He put his hand on the limp shoulder in front of him and pushed to get the man off him, a dark hiss like wet firewood burning seeping out and Hubert raised his head. The eye not swollen nearly shut was narrowed to a slit and his teeth were bared in a bloodied snarl before he schooled his expression and moved to sit up. He struggled mightily to rise to his elbow on one side, only to lose balance, and he fell back down onto Claude's chest, crushing the air from his lungs and Hubert let out a yelp, forehead digging into his sternum while he rode out whatever pain was there.

"Ow!" Claude hissed on a huge inhale. "Why didn’t you see a healer?"

Hubert grunted and slid to the side with great difficulty. "Hmph."

"Fine, but you’re being an idiot." Claude retorted calmly, tired and done with the conversation.

Hubert grumbled in response and resettled on his stomach, face screwed up in pain but Claude's brain whispered he looked like he was about to come, a long while passing before the fist by his cheek unclenched and his breathing became whisper-soft and light again, melodious and even.

Claude grimaced at the cold, wet spot where Hubert's boots had soaked into the bedding and threw himself onto his side. His fingers kissed the edge of that horrible bruise and traced the outline in the candlelight; surprised Hubert hadn’t blown them out or extinguished them. It was an oversight wholly unlike him.

Exhaustion must have taken the man far down into sleep because all he did was furrow his eyebrows and make a small, helpless noise high in his throat.

The smaller man took his hand back and sighed. He'd always knew he didn't favor up-close killing; he never enjoyed seeing the light in something's eyes leave, the pain there, be it human or animal. There was no fear of that with bows and poison and it allowed him to shake off uncomfortable feelings after battle, always ready for the next in an unending line. He was a planner, a long-distance marksman, watching the rhythm and flow of the battle from afar to ensure the best way to protect those around him. 

Distance also left open the possibility of retreat, something that should never be ruled out when needless loss of life would not, or could not, change the circumstances or outcome of battle or further battles. It was better to retreat and regroup to come back stronger than to end in a stalemate that may last weeks and leave his army decimated.

Still, that noise and the purely physical response to it was unnerving.

He was hard and his head spun. There was no reason to want to hear more of that noise.

***

Hubert had found himself split between the house and the front lines rather evenly and it was becoming harder, most exhausting, to keep up the back and forth. It hadn’t worried him before when he hadn’t returned to the household for months at a time but now he was finding that the stink and ache of battle was only lessened with a bitter coffee and the warmth of Claude’s body.

It was in these interludes where he didn’t need to be a commander, a general, that he realized he couldn’t bring himself to want anything more and he knew he hated and craved it and couldn’t bear to stop it.

It seemed to be simple gravity and he moved in a haze until he returned next to him. He didn’t recall the trip last night, only riding hours to make it back.

And somewhere, deep, deep down, Hubert is afraid. He's afraid that Claude is something that cannot exist outside of dreams. He's always been larger than life, a caricature in a play, an ideal instead of a person. There is something that stirs beneath the surface and it reminds Hubert of the storms off the coast, lightning and wind and rain forming a tangible wall that was visible far off shore before its borders vanished up close and it simply engulfed all it came across. He is smoke and mirrors that fade the closer one tries to inspect it. He is shrewd and cynical and hopeful all in one, the edges blurred until he becomes more than the sum of his parts.

Hubert hates it.

He may just love the man, he realizes, before he is engulfed and swallowed whole and he has no idea how to struggle against something so intangible and it’s terrifying in a way that’s never materialized in his life. Edelgard was a constant in his life, a rock, and right up until she was taken from him. After her return, after years of reeling and floundering and stagnating while he slogged through the days under his father’s tutelage, he has chained himself to her and while the chain may be getting longer, they are still attached. She is his sun and he can only hope she allows him to stay in her orbit while her heart is filled with another.

When had he let Claude flow through his cracks and stick there, blunting the sharp edges of his soul? Edelgard’s strength threatened to scorch him, use him up to his very last, and when had he started to covet Claude’s storm in the desert he was dying in?

He is a coward for wanting to turn from her and seek shelter from his feelings.

He is a martyr for her cause and he has no right to his own life.

He wants something to call his own.

You can’t possess the rain or the sun.

Hubert hates it.

More than that, Hubert hates himself for letting it all happen.

“Your elbow is dislocated. Why did you wait so long, sir?” The physician was puzzled and displeased, his lips a tight, hard line. “Better yet, you have been trained to treat such injuries on yourself, have you not?”

A memory of him hunched with his arm clamped between his knees and a loud pop came back unbidden. Silence stretched between them. “I was busy at the time. Then, when my previous engagements had finished, I found myself…in need of rest.”

“Nevertheless, you should have come to see me immediately upon your return to House Vestra,” the man, most likely in his mid-fifties with a slight pot belly and bushy eyebrows, followed up before suddenly yanking the arm in front of him. “There’s a good lad. Deep breaths.”

The pain bloomed and stabbed as his elbow popped loudly and obscenely back into place. It was a disgusting noise he never got used to, the way his skin distorted around the joint even less so. Yes, he agreed, he should have sought immediate attention and normally would have no problem doing so and, when not possible at times, had taken the process into his own hands (hand, knee, whatever he could). The grunt-groan fell from behind his teeth and the old doctor said nothing, fingers on his wrist at the pulse point and watching his face calmly.

“My assistant will get you a sling. Don’t you let me hear of you taking it off for the next week until you see me again, not even to sleep.” Hubert cradled his elbow and glared at the man but it was rebuffed with a laugh. “I’m serious, lad. It’ll be no skin off my nose but it might just be off yours if it goes out again.”

He huffed and glared at the wall of his father’s old study. The man grabbed his bag and patted the younger male next to him on the shoulder, who started to advance with a piece of fabric while the doctor took his leave.

“Just going to wrap and sling it—“

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Hubert breathed, feeling the joint already begin to further swell now that it had been jolted around.

He reveled in the physicality of the pain, digging his fingers into the tender flesh hard enough to chase away anything else.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living takes courage and Claude is tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!
> 
> -Sex as a coping mechanism  
> -Claude actively aims to not be like Hubert so he does mean it when he keeps asking  
> -That being said, Claude still kind of takes advantage of Hubert's feelings I guess? You decide.

_“You know, since I’m no longer available,” Hilda crooned while she batted her eyelashes at him, “you could always marry Holst. Then we could hang out, like, all the time!”_

_Claude choked on his spit and coughed while Hilda beamed and offered no help. “Hilda, where in the world—“_

_“Holst_ adores _you. You didn’t know that?”She gave him a ‘duh’ expression and canted her hip while twirling a finger in her hair. “Oh, come on, Claude! Stop scheming for two seconds and get with the program!”_

_“We’re…kind of at war?” He leaned back in his chair and wanted to laugh, baffled and confused, but laughing was by default better than showing that something had gotten under your skin. No other words came to him for once: nothing witty, nothing funny, nothing at all._

_“All the more reason you need to reach out and take it where you can get it! You never just take life by the horns! So frustrating! Urgh!” She was escalating far quicker than the situation called for in his mind, but it was Hilda and so he remained fond and half-amused while scribbling notes. “Maybe not_ marry _him, but you could definitely at least_ sleep _with him.”_

_“Didn’t you tell me to be the cliff flower once? How can I be the cliff flower and shamelessly salacious at the same time? How is that going to work?”_

_“Oh,_ Claude _,” she sighed in the same manner as a teacher explaining a simple math problem for the hundredth time and tucked herself up into his side, “don’t get any funny ideas, like I said, I’m totally, like, taken right now, but this is war so maybe, maybe be the cliff flower after this stupid war? Right now, just…do things while you can, yanno? You’re so_ young _, you’ll figure these things out.”_

_“…Aren’t we the same age?” He should probably feel insulted or something but he only felt affection._

_“Maybe, but I have things figured out now and I have a life, so that makes me way older than you at the moment.”_

_Claude laughed until his ribs hurt and he could barely breathe. “Fine, but I’m still not sleeping with Holst.”_

_"Living takes courage, Claude!"_

_"Fine. Maybe...Lorenz. Not Holst."_

_She smiled and punched him in the arm hard._

***

Hubert was gone early in the morning when he woke to the sun in his face and didn't return until the late morning wearing a sling on his right arm, face deflated but a sickly green where it had looked like a balloon. He somehow had managed to get dressed, including his cufflinks and black overshirt.

Claude stretched and rolled over to pull a pillow to his chest with a groan. He nuzzled into it, lifting his face when Hubert sat on the edge of the bed. The uninjured gloved hand reached to caress his cheek before Claude intercepted it and pulled the glove from his fingers to wrap his tongue around them, feeling out of control after the dream.

Hubert's eyes glazed over as he teased the sensitive digits, edging it with teeth and suction, and emerald pools watched the growing bulge in those tight pants.

Until he reached for Claude with the other arm and recoiled with a feral sound, fingers yanked from his mouth to cradle the injured arm and he curled in over himself.

"Broken?"

"Dislocated."

"You slept through a dislocated elbow?"

"...Nothing gets past you, does it?" Hubert asked with an arched eyebrow. 

"How long have you been awake?"

"I cannot recall," he replied in a tilted, evasive tone, one that clearly intoned there was nothing to be said about it.

"Oh-kay, well. I can hang out somewhere," Claude added hastily, "and you can rest." His eyes wandered back down to the man's lap. "Or we can...well, it'll be hard for you, but, if you're up for it, so to speak," he laughed low in his throat, nearly a purr, "unless you trust me to..."

Hubert shook his head and stood, unsure what exactly Claude meant but his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips involuntarily all the same, wanting all the same. He ignored it and attempted to shuffle papers on his desk. “You want to fuck me, then? Is that what you’re proposing?”

Claude laughed self-deprecatingly and more than a little surprised at the curse and redoubled his efforts. He didn’t want to think and he certainly didn’t want to feel. There was only one way the pain of the memory was going to get buried and now that Hubert was injured, it was going to be more difficult to work with, especially since it was his right arm. “Well, when you put it like that…of course not, not if you don’t want that to happen.” He smiled, an almost genuine and seductive gesture, darkness and cutting edge nowhere to be found. “But if that is something you want, then I can definitely say I’ll make it worth your while.”

The stab of arousal was disarming. “What if I don’t?”

The brunette shrugged his trademark shrug, hands up, gaze penetrating like a dagger before it was gone as if it had never been there. “Then you don’t. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I want: some of Corelie’s spiced pheasant eggs.”

Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the small curling to the edges of his lips. “I will be in your debt if you will see fit to sashay back with a cup of coffee.”

“I knew you kept me around for something! My sashay skills!”

“Don’t ever doubt it,” Hubert called to the man without taking his eyes off trying to alphabetize his documents, brows drawn when they weren’t quite fitting.

His elbow ached and he sat back down in his desk chair, giving up and instead turning to a pile of mail. He couldn’t correspond but he could at least sort it…

***

What felt like eternities later, Hubert sighed and threw the paper on the desk in frustration, digging his index finger and thumb into his eyes. He had neither the time nor the interest in attending some noble daughter’s coming of age ball.

Claude pushed off the doorframe and plodded over, placing the steaming cup of black coffee where it wouldn’t get knocked over.

"You know, there's no reason to let your arm stop us, really."

"Back on that again, are we?" Hubert sighed, corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile despite himself. He pushed the papers away completely and leaned back in the chair with a barely stifled groan. Claude parked a hip against the heavy oaken surface and crossed his legs at the ankles. "You are insufferable. Incessant. Nigh insatiable."

"Only ‘nigh’? I’m clearly not trying hard enough.”

“A self-serving brat _and_ a tenacious fool. Talented.” He raised his coffee cup in a toast and scoffed. “Remind me how you’ve managed to stay alive this long?”

“It’s my devilish good looks and my rogue charm, of course.”

Hubert looked over the rim of his coffee and smiled sarcastically. “Of course.”

Claude laughed and moved, turning the chair so Hubert faced him. It seemed to please the man to be able to physically turn the larger man, positioning him how he wanted, and jammed both his knees between Hubert’s thighs and the arms of the captain’s style chair in a feat of physics Hubert doubted would align so nicely again.

Their arms tangled, Hubert gulping the last of his coffee as he held it away from his body to avoid getting scalded if it spilled. His mouth didn’t appreciate it, tongue burning, but Claude’s tongue was cool against his own and they both fumbled, Claude with getting his hands deep in that dark hair and Hubert with the heavy mug. With a frustrated noise, the man in his lap grabbed Hubert’s wrist when the mug clunked dully on the desktop and started working his mouth over the fingers of his good hand.

"How do you know you can trust me?" Claude arched an eyebrow sagely and left the last part unsaid: Not to hurt you. Hubert had a throbbing surge of chest pain at the thought and while he theoretically understood guilt, he had never really felt it before.

Not even when he lied to Lady Edelgard or acted against her for her own best interests. It had always been for the greater good and that was something he simply could not summon such limiting feelings over, something he couldn’t afford to let get to him. It would only take a second of hesitation to be killed and his father had always warned him that a clouded mind was as bad as a drunk one.

Was this the way of things now? Was he doomed to feel small, useless feelings and be bogged down by them? He was out of his depth and Claude didn’t push, waiting, but they both knew if he had wanted to, Hubert would be at the disadvantage.

"I believe you and I are different creatures on that front," he muttered, shivering when Claude's nails scraped gently against his scalp, "and I do not know, not truly, not one hundred percent. However, if you were...to injure...then I will survive." He looked away, unable to stomach that leering gaze any longer and his face began to heat, followed by the same stirring want from the morning that the other man could surely feel against his pelvis. "This is not a feeling I am most familiar with, this need."

The body he was trapped in had always been the means to an end. It was a vassal for the Empire, something that required nourishment and training but beyond that, it knew only pain or nothing at all. He fulfilled it's most basic needs to keep it in optimal shape for use as his Lady saw fit, allocating for the need to increase strain on it periodically as required to surpass previous levels of fitness and skill.

He knew how to cause pain extensively, assisting personally in interrogations and intelligence gathering as needed. Knowledge of how to cause swift deaths, slow deaths, painful deaths, maiming, disabling, or permanently causing harm were in his muscle memory and buried in his very reflexes.

This was something else and left him terrified and equally wanting as the other man began undoing his cufflinks. It was a most unexpected gesture, one he had never encountered from someone before now. Fingers slipping down the inside of his uninjured wrist gave him no warning to brace against the touch and his breath stuttered harshly in his throat and his knees buckled slightly. It was a desperate hope that Claude didn't notice but while the man said nothing, the glitter in his eyes said he had. 

The flush that stole over his face burned along his nose and cheekbones before catching on his ears and creeping down the back of his neck. He ignored it and willed the goosebumps down where Claude had moved to stroking his forearm and he visibly shuttered when Claude pulled away and held out his hand. Hubert steeled himself and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and broke the contact to remove the sling, letting his arm dangle by his side. He could move it but it was painful and he doubted the physician had this in mind when telling him to be careful with it the next week.

He allowed his body to be steered to the bed and positioned gentler than he had ever shown the other man, the buttons on the front of his shirt deliberately and sensuously popped open one by one. His mind screamed for control before Claude sealed his mouth on the junction of his shoulder and neck on his good side and sucked.

The effect was instantaneous: he arced his hips before he could stop the reaction, hand coming up to dig into Claude's thick hair and keep his smart mouth there, the moans from his tugging of the strands only feeding it. The feeling of the suction was divine and he felt a bruise forming, pain edging the heat and stoking the fire and it wasn't anywhere near enough as his toes curled helplessly from the desire to move and the lack of ability to do so between hips being pinned and the ache of his arm. 

“I could ride you,” Claude cajoled and Hubert huffed a breath out and lost the words when fingers stroked the delicate inside of his hips.

The green eyes were predatory and Claude kissed him hard and Hubert felt himself nearly vibrating off the bed as those clever fingers explored his skin, leaving tingling ice-fire in their wake. They exploited sensitive areas he didn't know he could possibly even possess mercilessly and without clemency like Hubert would dog a piece of vital and precious information. They pinched and scratched and pressed and caressed and he arched his back and twitched his fingers uncontrollably, causing him to claw those soft strands when Claude tongued his ear and the vibration from Claude's answering groan sent him gasping.

"Guh--" It was a sound he garroted as soon as he was able and it punched the air from his lungs and they burned from holding his breath anyway in a desperate attempt to stop the labored thundering of his breathing.

Finger tips skirted around the bruise on his ribs, teeth nibbled gently on his earlobe before being pulled into that wet, hot mouth, nails gently pulled over his nipples and he tossed his head one way and then the other, pectoral and bicep twitching with the effort of holding his arm still and he groaned at the way the muscles pulled around his elbow.

“I’m serious,” Claude offered, more earnest than Hubert had ever seen him before, face hovering close, “we don’t have to do this if you’re in pain. We can figure something else out.”

Hubert laughed through grit teeth. “A little late for that. Besides--” He arced and rubbed himself on the other man, letting him feel the hardness there. “—were you not in the middle of ‘making it _worth_ my _while_ ’, as you put it?”

"You okay with face-to-face?" Claude purred, mouthing his jaw with a laugh.

"W-what?" His mouth moves like a fish out of water and his brain feels just as sluggish before the image careens into his mind’s eye and his face burned.

"You can't support yourself on your knees with one arm."

He flushed hotter at the implication, turning his head and slamming his eyes shut against the shot of panic there. "Whatever--you believe best."

"Well, well," Claude hummed, throaty and thick with want while grinding slowly against the other man's hips and damn him for knowing exactly how to stoke the fire inside his gut, "not feeling snarky?"

Hubert lifted his quivering leg so Claude could begin working on his pants and pull them down, nearly kneeing the brunette in the face when he jerked at the hot lips pressing themselves to the inside of his knee. Those calloused fingers pressed and sought and took, skating along the back and he tried to jerk away from the sensations, into it, he couldn't tell: Claude had a strong hold on his ankle and was holding his leg immobile. His hair tickled the inside of Hubert's thigh and he rubbed his short beard over the teeth marks and it was ticklish enough to be something the taller man gripped the sheets against. "Kno—knock it _off_ \--"

"Why, sensitive?" Claude grinned darkly, tongue sneaking out to drag over the overstimulated skin there and Hubert felt a few salty drops drip onto his stomach when he throbbed at the teasing tone. "You are, aren't you?"

This wasn’t something he ever saw himself wanting: to be teased like this. However, being the sole subject of the clever archer’s attention was certainly enthralling and acted as fuel to a fire and he knew he would never be the same afterward, chest cracking open with a need he was not aware he possessed. His head turned of its own accord to try and avoid the gaze, embarrassed and out of control. He wasn’t sure he wanted it at all and it was like the thrill of sneaking into somewhere heavily guarded, to round a corner and find himself almost spotted before stealing away again.

“Hurry up,” he snarled through clenched teeth, “before I change my mind.”

Claude smirked, self-assured and warm like a sunny day, before he reached under the pillows where the vial of oil lay, nearly gone, and pulled the top with his teeth. He smiled down at Hubert for a second and it took more strength and focus than he would like to admit to stop himself coming at the sight of the man above him, shirtless, scarred, in control and with a look of intense concentration on his face before he spit out the rubber stopper and sunk an oiled finger into him.

It was an odd feeling, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just pressure and Claude’s mouth was on him and his hand was on him and he ached. “Hurry _up._ ”

“Do you want me that bad?” Hubert wanted to choke him, to reverse their positions and hold him down, take him and take and take. “Let me do this.”

Hubert felt his face contort into a sneer at the implication at his lack of control of himself. He was thankful that Claude said nothing about his lack of a track record at being invested in this particular activity when the tables were turned and nothing about his lack of a crest to make the aftermath more bearable. His erection was already somewhat flagging at the thoughts and Claude hummed with a frown before leaning to take him into his mouth.

His left hand jerked to the brown locks and buried itself there again while he held on and tried not to mewl pathetically. His heartbeat was already making his head throb with the effort of holding back as the finger (or fingers, he couldn’t tell anymore) probed and scissored inside him before he shouted and started to shake and his spine was on fire and the want—the need—had begun to pool low in his stomach.

Claude pulled his head up with a wet and obscene popping noise, cheeks red from lack of breath. “Okay?”

Hubert slung a leg over his shoulder and pulled him forceibly closer, heel digging between the man’s shoulders.

To his credit, Claude didn’t fall forward, shrugging the leg off and repositioning it around his hip as he walked slowly forward on his knees. “Last chance. If you don’t want this, I can—“

“— _Do it_ ,” Hubert snapped as his other leg came around to bracket the man and finally, finally, Claude began to push into him.

It felt bigger than it seemed his body could ever give into but Claude went slow and stopped when it seemed his face did something outside his control to signal that the burn had become a little too sharp to be enjoyable. At Hubert’s curt nod, he began to push in and it was when it seemed that it would go on forever, until it would never end, the man above him finally, finally bottomed out.

Claude was sweating and the strands of hair on his forehead were black with it and his eyes were wide and wonderous and Hubert wished he had thought to pull the heavy shades and let darkness engulf them, give him a place to hide his shame and embarrassment at being seen like this, exposed and watched.

Then Claude began to move and he didn’t care.

He yelped and scrabbled at the man’s shoulders with his good arm and let his nails bite into the those dark shoulders and moaned into the mouth covering his when Claude unerringly found his prostate and struck it repeatedly. It sent electric shocks through him, the waves of it getting closer and closer together until it was simply one long string of pleasure and those eyes were looking straight through him and it was that, more than anything, that made him grit his teeth and push into the thrusts.

“You close?”

Trying to nod and failing as his head fell back and he began to shiver, Claude leaned down and licked a line along his jaw before his thrusts changed and became slower, deeper, harder.

“Come for me. That’s it, come for me, Hubert—“

His muscles trembled and clenched before the world whited out and sound faded, narrowing the world down to the ringing in his ears as waves wracked over him and left him helpless against the strength of it. When his focus faded back in, however long it was he couldn’t say, there was wet heat on his cheek and his addled brain sought to make sense of how tears had gotten on his face when Claude had none in his eyes. His fingers dragged shakily through it and came away with white stickiness, the substance covering his chest and chin as well.

A pervasive sense of wanting to die came over him at the same time as the realization that he had come so hard as to splatter all the way up to his face.

Claude’s mouth was moving and his face was a pinched look of concern but Hubert could only vaguely hear him, mostly watching his lips for words. “—okay?”

“What,” he fairly yelled in response and the man above him jerked back before the words sunk in and he simply looked pensive before it morphed to smug. “ _What_?”

“You really came that hard? Are you okay? We can call a healer--”

The sense was fading back now, thick cotton wrapped about his head and the panic that would normally flow from the situation was stemmed effectively by the rush of endorphins. The ability to hear came back slowly as if he had been in a loud explosion and he pulled the blankets over his head, the ringing still present but only noticeable on the periphery. His elbow throbbed but not as much as his hips and backside currently did and he was sure he would pay for this escapade later. He felt disgusting and exhausted and grunted, “Whatever you previously said, kindly take it and fuck off. On your way out, hand me the god awful sling, I’m apparently supposed to wear it to sleep.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude finally meets with Edelgard but only to find out what makes her tick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> -Claude is manipulative to size up Edelgard and her motivation for her cause (but manipulative all the same)  
> -Is Hubert having nightmares? Is it a lie? You pick.  
> -Mentions of Edelgard mercy killing her small half-siblings while in custody of Those Who Slither in The Dark

Edelgard wasn’t surprised to find Claude in her office and narrowed her eyes. She would clearly have to increase security, likely the windows being the entry point, as well as speak to Hubert about this.

She opened her mouth to greet him, when Claude suddenly spoke first from his place seated on her desk. The urge to roll her eyes was fought and won, but only just.

“I know about you. Your father was Ionius the ninth, was he not? It’s said he proliferated with many different concubines and consorts and resulted in eleven children, including you. That’s where the literature stops. I’ve had quite a bit of time to read, as you can probably imagine,” Claude murmured, kicking his legs as they hung off the side of the desk like a child. Edelgard wanted to vomit.

“They all died. As you know, there was a plague in Faerghus and, well, the Empire was not exempt. I’m the only one who survived.” She crossed her arms and considered him, face carefully blank. “Why are you asking, Claude? What are you planning?”

“Friends can’t ask about friends historical biographies nowadays?” He shrugged and leaned back on his palms, lounging and looking at her with his head cocked. To anyone else, the pose may have seemed…suggestive. To Edelgard, it was Claude working all his angles. “And, well, Hubert has nightmares.”

“ _What?_ ”

Claude crossed his ankles and considered her. He may have managed to truly shock her, the cupid-bow mouth open slightly, her eyes wide in a way he hadn’t seen but for a handful of times, red blush starting to creep up her cheeks. Unsure if she was finally connecting the dots, worried for the out-of-character behavior of a friend, or just confused as to why Claude was concerned about it, the man before her offered nothing to base her possible conclusions on. 

“What do you mean? Explain.” The bark of the Emperor was back in her voice, rigidity of the role offering comfort.

“Not really sure I can, Your Highness. All I can tell you is that they seem to have something to do with you,” he drawled, reaching up to scratch his beard just beneath his chin, “which is funny because all your information is there, up until you’re maybe about maybe seven, all the way until you’re around thirteen or fourteen when you were named heir apparent. Now, yeah, I’ll give you that there was a plague in Faerghus, but everyone knows it ended with Lady Cornelia finding a cure about ten years too soon to fit in with your version. Even giving you the benefit of the doubt for travel-time in the spread—let’s say three years, that’s pretty generous—that’s still too soon to make a difference. So let’s recap: Hubert’s traumatized by it, you disappear off the record, your father is all but ousted from power, am I following this right? So either you were relocated for your protection, or you were kidnapped, but that doesn’t explain your siblings—“

“Stop!” Edelgard shrieked before the loud ‘bang’ echoed around the room. Claude felt the tremble of the wood by his hand from the impact of her own.

He was still astounded by how much strength was there.

“Why are you doing this?” Her bosom heaved in the corset and she seemed unable to catch her breath. A strand of hair had fallen from her horned crown and lay, twitching, beside her lip. Claude couldn’t tell if she was on the verge of crying or killing him.

“Why? Isn’t it obvious?” Frowning, he arranged his face into an expression of contrite worry and shrugged. “Nothing. Nevermind. I didn’t know it would bother you so much—“

“I’m not to going to ask how you know Hubert is having nightmares. That’s something I cannot say I wish to know,” she continued softly as if all the fight had left her. “I also am not going to question why you are concerned about it.”

“Well,” he groaned with a stretch, hopping off the desk at last, “guess that means it’s time to get back.”

“I thought you wanted to know?” She sat at in the chair and folded her hands together, a smile of ice and bitterness on her face. The apathy in her eyes would have been a red flag to someone else, someone less accustomed to the evils of the world.

He sat and extended his hand in a gesture for her to continue.

“It started out as relocation. Hubert was devastated and blamed himself for many years. The nightmares always start again this time of year, despite his reluctance to discuss it, and that is just something…I cannot bring myself to press with him. I was brought to Fhirdiad for two years before retuning to the Empire. By then, my father had, indeed, been all but ousted from power by the seven lords, most notably, Ferdinand’s father. It was after that I was…I would not use the word ‘kidnapped’ simply because that would imply my whereabouts were unknown by my father. My mother did not know and, incidentally, she was kept as a prisoner in the Kingdom by a woman named Cornelia.” She clicked her tongue in remembered disgust, far away now from the warm office spilling with sunlight. “My siblings and I were imprisoned and subjected to crest experiments, to create the ultimate power. It failed. All of my siblings either went insane or died outright. The youngest, they couldn’t even articulate…”

Claude stared at a point just above his knee, focusing on the fabric. He frowned, half wanting the words, to hold them, half wanting her to stay quiet. “You killed them, right? You did what you had to do, Edelgard.”

The purple eyes bore into him, attempting to drill out his very soul, assess its value. Maybe just to pick it apart, look at the pieces, decide what she was working with and the best next step. Claude gave no quarter.

She resorted to stabbing in the dark, scientific and objective now that she had begun to dissociate from it. “Do you know what that’s like, Claude?”

"Well, that depends." He smiled. “Do you think I do?”

“I truly wonder,” she whispered and he wondered if her eyes were getting dry from lack of blinking. 

“I’m not important enough to occupy your mind, Your Grace,” he replied, smile still on his face. “Is that how you obtained your second crest? Is it also safe to assume after your disappearance is when you found out about your mother and the Tragedy of Duscar?”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes, any vulnerability or openness suddenly withdrawn and replaced with walls of ice and, strangely, disappointment. “My, my, I really cannot tell if you’ve changed or not over the years since the Academy. Were you always this ruthless or did you manage to tone it down around us all? I think I’m beginning to understand how you managed to hold the Alliance together for so long.”

“You know, I’ll take that as a compliment and, hey, I wasn’t aware your mother was off-limits. What if we trade? I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.” Claude chuckled, not in a cruel way, but certainly in a way that Edelgard found hard to place. “Your Highness, please,” he continued as the laugh died down, “the monster isn’t the mask.”

“I thought not,” she snapped as she visibly sagged, the whole conversation draining her like a great trial and radiating dissatisfaction. “I must admit to being curious about your mother but I feel as though this conversation should conclude for today. Are you satisfied for now? Have I given you enough breadcrumbs to lead you anywhere besides here?”

“Satisfied?” He seemed to roll the word around his mouth, testing the feel and fit as if it were a suit. “I can’t say I’ve been ‘satisfied’ in anything since this war started. But, hey, I can take a hint—“

“—Claude.” She had snapped back into Emperor Edelgard. “If you hurt Hubert in any fashion, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Of course not, Your Emperorness,” he laughed with his two-fingered salute and left, taking his obnoxious bravado and self-assured body language with him.

She could only pray Hubert knew what he was doing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I really feel like this chapter is rushed but I really feel like it was the only way to ever get it done, so I'm sorry. Winter has killed my energy level :(

The coffee Claude brought him that morning tasted stagnant and he immediately knew he had made a mistake but the world was already turning wavy and dark and he was unconscious.

The fire raged that night leveled the von Vestra estate and had the poison not been more long-acting, then he may very well have found himself dead. As it were, a silence sigil was intricately carved into his skin, disallowing him to teleport when he had awoken to smoke wafting through the door to his library, billowing upon the ornate ceiling like a growth. He had managed to stumble upon numb legs and roll out the second-story window into a row of hedges. It was not pleasant, not when his arm still twinged every now and then, but it was much preferred to burning to death and he covered his head with his cape as windows began to blow out from the heat.

The ensuing chaos was anathema to his very soul and he refused to budge when carriages arrived for the fire brigade, watching the roof erupt in flames and collapse. 

“Do you think it was _them_?” Edelgard demanded later, watching the servants sob and slowly become numb, flames ravage the building, and suddenly it snapped into place.

Claude had always unnerved him because of his ability to change: the characters he played, charismatic and reassured; the masks he wore, smiling and open; his body language moving fluidly, always adapting to the situation.

Hubert finally knew what the darkness that Claude gave off sometimes was.

It was loathing and malice. He could smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Just like those who slithered in the dark.

They had the same eyes.

Hubert doubted it was anything as sinister as that but he certainly couldn’t discount it, either. Not with his childhood home burning to the ground and everyone else accounted for. Not with countless documents, _countless_ priceless texts, countless hours poured into making it a safe house, a war room, a central place in his web where he _lived and breathed_ information and secrets and ciphers and studied cryptology, languages, poisons, interrogation techniques, history, foreign politics, anything he could scour that maybe useful. It was where he had begun his life as a spy to the Empire and the place where he had pushed himself to rise above, to engulf everyone seeking to block Lady Edelgard’s path.

Now it was burning, much like a part of his soul, and was that not sinister enough? To steal away and raze everything behind him, not bothered enough to look back?

_“Wouldn’t it be better to let me go and have me in your debt?”_

He smashed his fist so hard against the stonework of the courtyard that he felt his hand shatter in three places.

His Lady’s porcelain skin danced red in the firelight, the look on her face beyond his understanding but terrifying because it offered him no hold to stop the spiral he was in.

Hubert didn’t often lose, but when he had, it had never been so thorough and painful.

***

A few weeks later, a missive landed on his new desk in the royal quarters, wax seal complex and untouched. He checked it for curses, for poisons and when he deemed it safe, finally opened it.

_Hey,_

_Gotta give credit where credit is due. I underestimated you: you’re way more thorough than anticipated._

_I wish this had ended differently, believe me, but eventually even a bird will learn to fear the outside world and learn to love the cage it’s in._

_Best,_

_Khalid_

He didn’t know who Khalid was, but he had a good enough idea and the thought made him drive a dagger into the top of his new oaken desk until it was barely useful for more than firewood before setting out to destroy the rest of the office.

Ferdinand found him among the carnage hours later when it had become dark enough to barely see.

“Whoa, Hubert—are you well? Have you been attacked?”

“Leave me,” he hissed so quietly and so full of venom that Ferdinand had to learn closer just to pick up the words.

“I am sorry, I did not catch—“

“LEAVE ME!”

Ferdinand jumped as if struck, mostly because he had never before heard Hubert raise his voice even in the worst of battles. “…No. I shan’t.”

“Ferdinand, I swear—“ he started before shaking off the arms that sought to stand him, swiping at him with the dagger. “I told you to _leave me._ ”

The sandy-haired man stared at his hand where the dagger had bit through his glove and his palm was leaking red slightly. He closed his eyes and sighed before continuing as if Hubert were being a petulant child. “No, I will not. You will either come with me or I will accompany you but I will _not_ leave you to your own devices. I fear you have been alone with them too long already,” he added as an afterthought, looking around the room. “Do not make me bring this to Her Highness.”

Hubert snarled and threw his head to the side, disgusted with everything. “ _Fine_ , as long as you breathe _not one word_ of this.”

“Have you eaten? I need wine. _You_ need wine,” Ferdinand chattered and, Goddess help him, Hubert found it nice to let it surround him like white noise.

***

The next day, at Ferdinand’s insistence that he eat again, at the man's home--an enviroment Hubert honestly found himself losing some of the layers of anxiety that had plauged him since the fire in--he jumped when Edelgard burst in and slammed a letter on the man’s table, unshed tears swimming in her eyes and the Professor hovering near her elbow. “Read it!”

“My Lady—“

“ _Read it_!"

_El,_

_I despise dirty tactics, however; this is war and I cannot afford to turn away help, no matter where it may come from. I sincerely believe in my heart that while we have different paths to peace, we can both adjust to end up walking this road together. I beg of you to consider this for yourself._

_That being said, if you cannot, then I will have no choice but to release the following information to the Imperial allies:_

_-The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and Almyra have henceforth entered into an alliance and will be preparing to engage the Empire in a two-front war._

_-The Empire has covertly gathered information sensitive to the kingdoms of Dagda, Brigid, Almyra, and Morfis. It maintains information on a lesser scale, but no less damaging, on the kingdom of Albinea, the Lords of the former Alliance, and several households of the Imperial Empire. It has extensive and damning information on the Church of Seiros, crests, and relics._

_As a show of faith to you, Cornelia has been removed from her post and awaits execution unless word comes that you would request custody of her to be assured of the outcome. Her followers are being hunted as we speak, however, I am assured they will neither put up much fight nor get far._

_There is no need to do this alone, El. I implore you to not allow things to end as they now stand. I now understand why you resorted to such drastic measures and I apologize a thousand times for never seeing it before._

_I’m here for you. I believe in you and your ability to walk a peaceful path._

_You need not waste time explaining just, please, let me take your hand in this fight and we can do this together. It may take longer than you have left but I will see this through. I will see reforms if it takes me the rest of my life._

_Please, El._

It was unsigned but it didn’t require a signature, Hubert recognizing the looping and ornate letters of King Dimitri and his face lost all its color. He could see black dancing at the edge of his vision and his entire scalp go hot, hands doing the opposite as they seemed to become cold and frozen, numb to the rest of his body. Tongue clumsy in a way he rarely ever dealt with, he forced words by way of sheer will past his lips.

“How did this arrive?”

“Messenger,” Edelgard answered, elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Byleth had one hand on her pale locks, the other on her thigh. “If our allies find out—“

“—our allies have their own secrets about our country, believe me,” Hubert huffed, numb and wanting to hide in a deep, deep hole. “Put no stock in that. They may be angry, but not worth fighting a war over, even with our forces spread thin. The _Kingdom_ , on the other hand, and _Almyra_ —“ he could barely contain himself from spitting, a spike of surging anger at the thought bubbling like lava “—poses a much more realistic problem.”

“ _Claude—_ “ Edelgard choked on a sound and slammed her hand on the table, shaking it, and it was only credit to the fine craftsmanship that it didn’t splinter in half at the fizz of her crest. “I thought he could be swayed, bonded to our cause, endeared to us, at the very least _reasoned_ with. He is a threat I should have killed at the root.”

“We can’t go back,” the Professor finally said at length, their voice like a balm on frayed nerves. “We have to meet with them both.”

“My teacher—“

“The letter is right,” Byleth said, matter-of-fact and reminiscent of how they used to be before the progenitor god had fused with them. The green eyes and face were blank, retreating to a place of cold logic. “We cannot afford a two-front war, especially not now. That isn’t what you want to hear, El, but we have our hands full with those who slither in the dark and the remaining knights with Rhea. To invite both Dimitri _and_ Claude to join against us is akin to suicide.” They turned Edelgard’s face toward them and smiled. “If he’s already removed Cornelia, then he is truly beginning to see how deep down this darkness festers and knows we stand against a true enemy that threatens us all. He was right about another thing, though: you’re _not_ alone, El. I swore to protect you. No matter the outcome, I stand by you until the end. We will face this together.”

Hubert looked anywhere but at the two of them, afraid his chest was flayed open and organs visible, and he wished despairingly that someone would take pity on him and rip his heart out through his chest.

Would it be his Lady? The Professor? He would prefer Lady Edelgard but he supposed whoever was available and able to do the deed would have to be acceptable.

Ferdinand stood in the doorway and cleared this throat, back from his trip to the wine cellar, a single bottle in hand as he took in Hubert’s look, Edelgard’s posture, and the Professor’s body language. “Edelgard, Professor--I did not realize--welcome. I...am rather unsure what I missed, but I clearly am going to need more wine."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! It's a horrible ending but I might write later in this universe because I am just horrible at ending things! I never know how to end a story so I usually just keep going with it until I peter out...
> 
> Anyway, I'm not sure what timeline this has. Hubert mentions how Claude looked a year earlier but it's not mentioned when or where he's actually comparing it to, so there's that, as well as implied problems coping with interpersonal events by both Claude and Hubert.
> 
> There are also major spoilers for the GD and BE (maybe even BL, not sure) route endings and I'm assuming a peace treaty was obtained between Edelgard and Dimitri and they are both currently in trade negotiations with Almyra as the respective rulers of their countries. In other words, what might have happened in the game if Dimitri was less "fuck Edelgard" and Claude was less "lol, I'm out" and Edelgard was less "fuck this shit" and Byleth was more "can you two be less psycho and you get tf over here now plz"

Things had wrapped up nicely. His coronation as King had gone well. Garreg Mach was declared neutral territory on all sides. Rhea was disposed of, her teaching disbanded in the light of covered atrocities and lies and Teach was actively working to restructure. The battle at the end with the Immaculate One got a little hairy and it could have gone much, much worse for everyone if Dimitri hadn’t been there. The guy always was a powerhouse.

He wasn’t really sure how he felt about using the Goddess’ stolen bones as a weapon and he knew he would have to destroy it sometime, but…it just didn’t seem like the right time.

Those who slithered in the dark had been thoroughly and savagely destroyed and he felt a little bit of a twang because, sure, he could understand where they were coming from (being destroyed by divine beings for being arrogant was a pretty big blow) and he could understand cultivating revenge for over a thousand years (the guys knew how to hold a grudge) but circumstances were circumstances and the slate had to be wiped clean.

It wasn’t personal for him (not the way it was with Edelgard and Lysithea) to take up arms against them but it absolutely had to be done.

Not all his battles were so cut and dry.

Claude tapped his knuckle on the table and cleared his throat before the council. “May I suggest a break for some air? Half an hour?”

There were murmured agreements from around the table and he shook off the inquires of his guards with a smile before he stood and strolled down the Academy hallways.

He knew he was being followed and the eyes boring into him during the meeting had been nearly unbearable, all of them. Teach, that carefully constructed blankness with an aura like home, Lorenz with wariness and hope, Sylvain like he was a particularly interesting specimen under glass, Ignaz with outright concern, Dedue with his blank hollowness, Dimitri with his reassuring and sheepish smiles, but mostly the Empire’s trio—Edelgard, Ferdinand, and—

_Hubert._

Hatred, humiliation, a pack of dogs surrounding one of their wounded to defend it.

Maybe the air would do them all good.

***

Claude was seated on a high rock overlooking the clearing, Failnaught drawn and held up to his face as he aimed at something far off that Hubert couldn’t comprehend and didn’t care about.

The man looked far different than he had only a year ago. Whereas he had been bearded and his hair long, it had since returned to his pre-captive style, loose locks and chinstrap of well-manicured facial hair, glossy and healthy in a way likely helped along by the native oils of Almyra. His skin was darker from the sun and bore a striking contrast to the fine gold threaded embroidery on his silken garb.

The King lowered his weapon and looked down at Hubert through his dark lashes and his smile was like knives. “Let me guess: it’s dangerous to be out here alone?”

“Hardly something you need trouble yourself over, clearly,” Hubert hissed as ice threatened to strangle his voice and heart. “I have no doubt you can fell anything in this forest.”

“Including yourself, Hubert?” The smile morphed into a reedy, thin thing. Khalid sat, Failnaught in his lap, and looked distant. “I do hope you found rebuilding helped along by the donation. I didn't count on the spread moving so quickly. I...really don't want anyone to feel like a refugee with only the clothes on their back, not even you. Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. ”

Hubert narrowed his eyes and wracked his brain for what the man could be talking about and the only thing he could conjure was the donations and labor from the Imperial Merchants’ Historical Association to help restore the building and grounds as best they could, using previous blueprints and commission records. It had hardly registered to Hubert at the time, caught up in putting one foot in front of the other as he was.

“Why?” The word fell out of his lips with no permission from his brain. Many times he had run through what he would do if they were to meet again and it had spanned from murder (unwise to commit regicide), to maiming (also unwise, someone would notice), to administering a paralytic and leaving the man to the elements (better), to slipping him something that would cause permanent, excruciating flares of agony that made him wish for death (best). At first his imagination had demanded why, the question manifesting in dreams as Claude (Khalid, Claude had always been the lie) fucked him before ripping his heart out. It had been nearly a nightly occurrence before his brain slowly switched to his burning question: _how?_ Had he simply given the man too long of a leash? Too much power over him?

Khalid took a pocket watch out of his breast pocket and consulted it. “Yeah, okay, we have time. Why? Really, Hubert, you have to ask that?” He sighed and composed himself visibly, tucking the anger back. “You killed _Hilda._ You killed my best friend, the first person in this country—the first person in this country to treat me like a person. Just Claude, remember?” Khalid laughed a little wildly. “You, personally. Not some no-name, helmeted soldier: it was _you_ , Hubert. Then you started with the—the—“ he waved a hand between the two of them animatedly “— _this_. What was I supposed to do? I told you to stop, asked you to stop, and you didn’t stop, so what was I supposed to do, really? You were going to do it whether I had any input or not and the more I fought, the more you thought it was a game, so I started my own game. Then you started to be gentle and that-- that was _worse_. Because I wanted it.” Khalid scrubbed a hand over his hair and down his face, the first cracking of his armor. “You made me _want_ to stay and that was something I couldn’t live with. Anyone can do anything if it’s all a game, but once it’s real…”

Hubert leaned against the nearest tree and felt his insides start to tear. “How?”

The man looked over the lake, running his tongue over his teeth like the words physically wouldn’t come. “That was the easy part. Edelgard’s methods alienated _so_ many people, Hubert, including your own. You kept Lysithea locked in her room, and that was pretty cruel, but Linhardt was hit particularly hard by it. Anyway, I would tear pieces out of Lorenz’s books for letters that Linhardt would sneak out. Judith was travelling toward the border with her followers and coordinated to sneak Lysithea’s parents out of their territory and into Almyra with much of House Daphnel following. That’s why Lysithea was crying that evening we left for Enbarr. We’d just gotten word they made it over the border and she was happy her parents were finally _safe_ from the Empire, after everything they’d done to them.” Khalid flicked the rock away. “Well, part of why she was happy crying: Linhardt asked her to marry him. They have kids now, in Almyra, and Linhardt’s working on crests.

Oh, Enbarr—I could see you cracking. You would lose it every time you came back from a meeting with Edelgard. You’re a control freak, so something must have happened that made you feel like you were losing your grip, right? Something out of your control, something involving Edelgard, something so deep you didn’t even realize…ah! Teach. Edelgard always had a thing for strength, wanting to possess it, absorb it. It only made sense that she and Teach started something. All I had to do was push a few places, give you somewhere to feel safe, like someone was on your side while she pulled away from you. So I kept coming back. Then, when you started acting like a normal person, I _wanted_ to stay. I _liked_ it but it wasn’t…I wouldn’t…for Hilda…I wouldn’t for Almyra. So—and I didn’t actually plan this part, before you go giving me the credit—Marianne can talk to animals. That’s not the part—okay, she and Hilda had a thing, which is also not the part. Here’s the part: she spoke to my wyvern—however she does that sort of thing—and she was lonely at the Gloucester place and asking about me, I guess, so she and Lorenz agreed it wouldn’t hurt to move her to the Imperial wyvern training grounds near Enbarr. Big mistake on your part, though, giving me all that freedom. I did realize something, though, after your arm and after seeing you that night…I wanted to see more of you. I liked the way you sounded underneath me but more than that…I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe, and from _what_? It was Hilda and I on that side once and to turn from that would be as bad as killing her myself.” Khalid licked his lips and bared his teeth for a split second before he started again. “So I knew. I knew it was then or I would never would have the strength to do it at all. You were under my skin and I liked the way it didn’t leave room for anything else except surviving. But, in the end, you trusted me because I manipulated you into it and I confused actual trust with being given no other choices.”

Khalid shrugged, face suddenly drawn and looking ten years older than at the start of his monologue that Hubert didn’t dare interrupt. His emerald eyes were fixed on the open palms of his leather gloves and the crooked smile on his face shot for self-confident and died somewhere around ennui. “So I took your state secrets, I took Barb, and I poisoned your coffee. You always liked it bitter. I wanted to kill you at first, but by then…it would have just been another body with no meaning. So, no, I wasn’t bent on killing you when I carved the sigil in your hand. I really just wanted to buy time. The fire, I wish I hadn’t had to do that, but Barb is an albino, so I couldn’t have people looking up at the sky and, if they did, I needed a cover and the smoke was perfect. After all, walking didn’t really work out for me the first time.”

He clicked his tongue and looked at the pocket watch again. The ever-present smile on the man’s face was tart and wooden and streaked with something murky that smacked of self-depreciation and anxiety. Hubert had always smelled weakness like a dog on the blood of a hunt and his hackles rose with it, unsure which of them the stink was coming from.

“I do have to thank Edelgard and Teach for keeping Failnaught safe for me, though, even given…Course, I guess she couldn’t really deny a direct request from the Almyran King. Certainly not an Almyran King who happens to be allied with the rest of the known world. Thanks for that, by the way, your files were useful. I didn’t know the Dagdan Prime Minister was sleeping with his son-in-law but it certainly made a treaty easy. Weird and super awkward, but fairly easy. Also, congrats on your fight with those who slither in the dark, which, you couldn’t come up with a better name, by the way? It made your notes a nightmare to read.”

The man’s eyes had always been on the long-term goal and Hubert had seriously miscalculated how dedicated Claude ( _Khalid_ ) was to the end.

“Why did you interfere with the planned invasion of Fhirdiad?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. If Edelgard got the Kingdom and a hair across her ass, who’s to say what she’d want next? Dimitri and I may very well be the only thing between her and my people. He works on the honor system: if he owes someone, he’s certainly going to pay it sooner or later, usually with interest. Ergo, it’s better that he owes me rather than anyone else. Pure math.”

His heart seized in his chest when the man stood and raised Failnaught only to shoulder it at the last second. He couldn’t be sure if he was hoping to be struck down or not.

“See you back at the negotiations, Vestra. Hopefully your sins weigh out to be less than my own in the end, for your own peace of mind. If not: think about world peace and the doors we’re opening for future generations by all getting along—or drink. Drinking helps.”

“How do you expect us to be allies?” Maybe it was the cynic in him speaking, but Hubert didn’t remember forming the words with his mouth, only hearing them echo unnaturally through the picturesque surroundings of the forest.

“I’m hoping, after this, we’ll never have an occasion to meet again for the remaining duration of our lives. It rings a little hollow, I’ll admit, but it’s what I’ve got.” He waivered, looked as if he wanted to go on, to explain further but then Khalid’s smile blasted Hubert full force, sunny and sarcastic, just like he used to be, before he turned on his finely booted heel and strode off into the woods back toward the Monastery. “Times up, Vestra!”

The stench of weakness remained.


End file.
